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Carthage Bay, Barheilabad, Dabih, Wednesday, July 12, 3037, 0915 Hours

The waves were two meters and glassy with the kind of gradual left-hand break that surfers dream about. The sky was deep blue, the clouds low and scattered making for another perfect day at the beach.
Mohammed Bey rubbed his board with scented wax as he eyed the continuous succession of waves. He heard the soft hiss of footsteps on the sand behind him.
“Yorana, Sherif Mohammed,” greeted the male voice, “we heard you where back from the academy. Welcome home.”
“Bonjour, Pierre,” replied the teen, “merci, it is good to be home.” He rose to his feet and picked up his surfboard, “I am surprised the others aren’t here yet.”
“Not a chance!” laughed the Polynesian, “We all work until ten at night, party until two and wake up at noon –Just in time to catch a few waves and report to work at two.”
Out of the corner of his eye, As`Zaman glimpsed a groundcar laden with colorful surfboard arrive, “Ah, here are a few of them.” He waved at the group of surfers as they exited from the vehicle. He headed for the pounding surf and paddled out to beyond the breaks.

The Azami youth straddled his board and let the swells go by as the first of his fellow surfers arrived.
“Eh, bradah,” said the first to shake his hand, “aloha!”
“Aloha and mahalo nui,” responded Mohammed, “it is good to see you, Kimo.”
Most of the people who surfed also worked at the hotels in Barheilabad. Many of the hotel employees were from the Azami population but there was an influx of Polynesian performers in the last century, Tahitians, Hawaiians and Samoan. These entertainers brought their music, cuisine, customs and sports. Pierre was one of the Tahitians while Kimo and his brothers were Hawaiians. Mohammed decided to learn how to surf years ago while making a tour of the beaches on his motorcycle.

After receiving the greetings of the others, As`Zaman gave a curt nod and paddled as the next swell formed. He stood up and rode the next wave in, testing the rise of the water and shifting his weight forward to pick up speed. He took in the colors of the water, the turquoise hue of the shallow bay, the white of the foam and spray. The sound of the rolling wave after it crested and the roar as it broke on the shore. Mohammed enjoyed the way he could lose himself in the curl, crouching inside the closing tube of moving water before kicking out before it broke. Surfing was a universe of its own, experienced by few.

The sun was setting, Saba and Tahis, his loyal bodyguards, waited by the limousine while As`Zaman carried his board up from the empty beach. He wondered what kind of dinner would be ready at home.


Recruit Reception Facility, 4th Arkab Legion Reserve Training Camp, Tuesday, August 1, 3037 0545 Hours

The crowd of young men milled about the plaza, some of them in simple duty uniform, most in civilian clothing. Mohammed As`Zaman Bey stifled a yawn and crushed out the butt of his cigar. He disposed of it by tearing the remnants apart and scattering the remainder along the dirt next to the bus shelter.
He looked at the faces among the assembly –Most were older men, in their 20s. As`Zaman Bey also noticed how much taller most of the other recruits were. At 1.67 meters, Mohammed Bey took after his mother in height.
Gripped securely in his left hand was the folder that contained copies of his academic and medical records. Each of the men in the crowd of fifty carried their records of education or previous service. A handful of the recruits wore uniforms –Most likely academy graduates, although at least two of the men appeared to have prior military duty of some manner.

As`Zaman kicked at the pavement in boredom, “Why am I being processed with these raw recruits?” He had just completed four years of intense academy training at the Sun Tzu School of Combat. He even wore the fouregere that indicated so. On the collar of his uniform, a pair of lavender Sergeant insignia stood out.
“Fall in!” roared a Corporal, “I want squads of ten men each!”
As`Zaman found a place in the second rank. He stood at attention and waited for further commands.
“The tallest recruits should stand on the right,” shouted the corporal, “If you are taller than the man on your right, take his place –Move it!”
There was momentary confusion as the formation gradually reorganized itself.

Mohammed Bey frowned at his position far to the left of his squad –His place was usually for the lowest-ranking member.
“We shall march to Hangar twenty-five where you shall be processed,” announced the noncommissioned officer, “Try to stay in step!”

There were several desks in the hangar and the recruits stood in line, waiting for a clerk to motion someone forward. Mohammed Bey handed his folder to the female private who sat at her desk, compad ready. The private took the data chip from his files and inserted it into the slot in her compad.
“Sergeant Mohammed Hajj ben Maruf As`Zaman Bey?” she read from the screen, “Age sixteen?”
“That is correct, Private,” replied As`Zaman in a calm voice. He stood at ease and was clearly bored.
“What is the hold up here?” inquired the Corporal. He was a veteran in his thirties and he eyed As`Zaman suspiciously, “Who let you wear those insignia, recruit?”
Mohammed Bey snapped to attention, “Corporal, the insignia I wear denote my current rank.”
“What?”
The Private broke in, “He’s telling the truth, Corporal.” She pointed at the screen, “This guy’s a Sergeant and he’s got four years’ back pay coming to him.”
“That must be an error,” mumbled the NCO, he eyed As`Zaman Bey suspiciously.

Mohammed Bey found the food in the mess hall passable, despite the low quality beef the main course used. His arms still felt stiff from the battery of immunization shots he received. During his meal he had to wave off recruits who inquired about his rank –The NCO staff appeared to be watching him intently and he knew that they frowned upon idle conversation in the mess.

That morning’s activities included updating personnel records, physicals, measuring for uniforms, indoctrination briefing, uniform issue, barracks room assignment and finally lunch.
Again, As`Zaman felt out of place –He had undergone similar training during the first semester at the Sun Tzu School of Combat. He could not help but consider most of what he was experiencing as an incredible waste of his valuable time.

“I am Sergeant K’taj!” bellowed the Lead Training Instructor, “I am not your father, not your mother or your cursed brother!” He paced before the formation, “It is my unfortunate duty to train you sorry recruits on how to be soldiers.” He glared at the ranks of men, “If I fail to do my job, some of you might just die.” He smiled, “If you fail, I might just have to kill you myself.”
As`Zaman fought the urge to roll his eyes at the speech. Why did the cadre talk to them as if they were children?

That afternoon’s activity included running in formation everywhere the recruits had to go to complete their in processing. Mohammed Bey was glad that he still had the boots he wore in school so he did not experience the usually painful experience of breaking in a new pair. He could hardly wait to wash his new uniforms so that they would be comfortable.

The formation of recruits finally marched to the courtyard of a simple, concrete building where another formation waited. The recruits carried buff canvas duffle bags on their shoulders and the Staff Sergeant read off platoon and squad assignments. The formations broke up into three platoons -two platoons of thirty men and one platoon containing forty. As`Zaman Bey found it annoying that he was among the last called, assigned to the third platoon, fourth squad.

He shared a room with four young recruits. Before he could settle down and tend to his issued gear, Corporal Massuf stepped into the room, “Sergeant As`Zaman Bey, please come with me.”
Mohammed Bey followed the NCO to the company commander’s office the Corporal motioned for him to enter. “Sergeant Mohammed As`Zaman Bey, reporting as requested, sir!” He clicked his heels smartly and stood at attention.
The Captain at the desk stood up, “Please stand at ease Sergeant, I shall try to make this brief,” he began, “It appears that some of our records and yours don’t quite match and it is believed that some form of computer error is involved as a handful of recruits are equally effected.” He shifted uneasily, “Until that error has been corrected, I will have to ask that you remove the Sergeant insignia from your collar.”
“Sir, I understand that this sort of thing happens but what rank am I until then?” he asked. “I have my school records on hand, I am a certified battlemech pilot,” explained As`Zaman Bey, “Why must I go through all this rubbish as if I were a raw recruit?”
“I am very sorry,” replied the officer, “regulations would have you without insignia but I’ve seen your certification, so I’ll let you wear Corporal tabs until the admin people straighten things out.” He opened a drawer and picked out a set of subdued bronze pins, “Here, I am Captain Yasin.” He pinned the insignia onto Mohammed Bey’s collar and stepped back, “I shall see what can be done about your training –You are dismissed.”


Alef Barracks, 1730 Hours

“So why are you here?” asked recruit Umar Takesh, he applied more wax polish to his boot and rubbed it onto the brown leather.
As`Zaman Bey shrugged, “I’ve never encountered this kind of problem,” he dipped the cotton ball he held between his fingers into the ceramic bowl of cold water and rubbed the wax finish on the boot he held to a high polish. He held the boot up to the light to admire his work, “I would have thought that the Arkab would have better administrative services.”
Recruit Tabat Ruza shook his head, “This is a reserve unit –They always are a little sloppy with data.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “I received a notice to appear here,” he said, “my battlemech is at the 4th Arkab Reserve Facility and my tech is there was well.”
“How about that Sergeant K’Taj?” said Takesh. “He sounds like a tough guy.”
“That pot-bellied blowhard?” laughed As`Zaman, “Haven’t you noticed that K’Taj never runs with us?” He placed his boots under his cot, “He rides an electric cart wherever he goes –What is that about?”
“Who knows?” wondered Ruza, “We’re not even infantry –I’m going to repair internal combustion engines and Umar is a cook.”

Corporal Massuf stood quietly as he listened to the recruits talking. Believing that he had heard enough, he made his way to the Lead Training Instructor’s office.

“Are you certain?” asked K’Taj, his voice a deep rumble.
The Corporal nodded, “I heard them myself, that As`Zaman is obviously a troublemaker.”
“Another spoiled noble –What does he know of the real military?” grumbled the sergeant, “I know how to fix those academy types.”

Formation, Wednesday, 0600 Hours

Corporal As`Zaman listened to the Sergeant read off a list of scheduled classes the recruits were to attend over the next few hours: Personal hygiene, protocol, drill and ceremony, and the usual indoctrination for anyone unfamiliar with life in the military.
Mohammed Bey was bored –He knew all of these things and could probably teach each of the classes without consulting the instructors.

“The following recruits are to fall out after the formation is dismissed for special detail: Corporal As`Zaman, Recruit Ruza, Recruit Takesh and Recruit Falawi.”
Mohammed Bey frowned, “Now what?”


Commander’s Office

“Here’s an odd set of orders I received today –you recruits are being transferred over to one of the excess platoons,” said Captain Yasin. He shrugged, “This rarely happens as the excess platoon contains either recruits still in school, active military washouts or retirees seeking a position in the Reserves.”
“Sir,” began As`Zaman, “why am I on that list?”
The officer shook his head, “It has to be another error –Usually recruits in Dal Barracks is on probation for some reason –either unable to complete training or those with disciplinary problems.” He initialed the papers and handed them to each of the men, “The barracks are on the other side of camp so a truck will take you there –Have your gear packed within the hour.”

Dal Barracks, 1200 Hours

The young officer stood before the assembled soldiers, “Welcome, I am Junior Lieutenant Ayyub.” He continued, “For whatever reason you have come here, it is our duty to see that you do your best to complete your training.”
Mohammed Bey stood in the second squad; he counted fifteen people in formation, including two sergeants, himself the only corporal and the rest raw recruits, including three young women.
“I am Staff Sergeant Yabouk,” spoke the portly Lead Trainer, “you had better do your best or you will wish you had never volunteered!” He waited for the Junior Lieutenant to disappear into the building before striding along the formation. “You, Sergeant –couldn’t make it on the outside and came back for free meals, eh?” Yabouk locked his eyes with the older of the two sergeants, “Answer me!”
“No, Sergeant,” muttered the man.
“Liar!” retorted Yabouk, he turned to the next recruit, “You –What are you trying to be here?”
Recruit Takesh replied, “I’m going to be a cook, Sergeant!”
“A cook!” laughed the Lead Trainer, “That will win battles!”
Yabouk made his way along the line of soldiers, berating their choices of professions, sneering at their ability and doing his best to intimidate them. “So Corporal, why are you among this talented crew?”
“I am a battlemech pilot, Sergeant,” replied Mohammed Bey calmly.
The Staff Sergeant was silent for a moment, “Ha!” he exclaimed, “You are a phony and a malcontent!” He turned and headed back to his place before the small detachment, “You are all here because the Arkab Legions really don’t have a place for you and we have to weed out the worthless –as if it mattered!”


Dal Barracks, Second Squad Area, 1400 Hours

Mohammed Bey arranged his locker as per Arkab Legion regulations, his uniforms in the position of “parade rest” and everything else displayed and inspection ready. He took the time to teach his fellow squad members to do the same.

“Attention!” shouted Recruit Ruza.
The Junior Lieutenant walked into the room where the men stood at attention. He took his time looking from one locker to another, “Did Sergeant Buzuhl teach you how to do that?”
“No sir,” answered Falawi, “Corporal As`Zaman.”
“Really?” he looked to Mohammed Bey, “I haven’t been able to locate your records, Corporal –Where did you learn to prepare your locker?”
As`Zaman clicked his heels, “I graduated from the Sun Tzu School of Combat –Class of 3037, sir!”
The officer rubbed his chin, “Why are you here? All of this would merely be a review for you.”
“Sir,” answered Mohammed Bey, “it appears that my information has been misplaced and I am here.”
Ayyub nodded, “You seem to be taking this all in stride, Corporal.”
“I survived five years of Sun Tzu,” commented the corporal, “I could take a couple of weeks here, sir.”
“Carry on,” said the Junior Lieutenant, he bowed slightly and left the room.

“That was nice of him to come by,” said Takesh, “but I haven’t seen Buzuhl since our last class.”
“He isn’t very motivated,” added Falawi, “typical Tuareg.”
“Well, he’d better be sharp,” said As`Zaman, “or he won’t be our squad leader for long.”


Dal Barracks, Commander’s Office, Monday, August 7, 3037 0900 Hours

“I’m sorry, Corporal,” said Senior Lieutenant Ayyub, “We haven’t received any news of your assignment yet.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied As`Zaman, he turned to leave.
“Before you go, Corporal,” said the officer, “I have written some good reports about how you’ve volunteered to conduct training.”
Mohammed Bey returned to the position of attention, “Sir, I appreciate your recognition of my efforts but I am underscoring that fact that I don’t need the training.”
“It is out of my hands, Corporal.”

“Nothing yet?” asked Umar.
Mohammed Bey shook his head, “I guess I’ll teach the ten o’clock class on map reading.”
“That’s our consolation, at least,” remarked Tabat, “I’ve noticed that when you teach a class, that fat Yabouk isn’t around to harass us.”
“I’ve noticed that as well,” said the corporal, “he’s never around for our exercise sessions, either.”

Falawi smiled, “What about those two girls in our squad?”
“The clerks?” asked Ruza, “What about them?”
“I’ve noticed that Sergeant Buzuhl never does anything during training unless it’s to try to impress them,” commented Falawi, “What do you think about that, Corporal?”
“I just want to get out of here,” sighed As`Zaman.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

4th Arkab Legion Reserve Training Camp, Chemical Warfare Facility, Thursday, August 10, 3037

“One last time,” recited Corporal As`Zaman, “put on your mask, check your seal and when we are all ready, we go into the building.” He looked at the squad of recruits, “Relax, breathe normally and we will march in, halt, execute a right face in front of the sealed area where the Junior Lieutenant will take over.” He slowed down, “We will then be ordered to removed our masks –Take a deep breath, remove your mask and do your best to relax,” he continued, “you may be asked to recite your name, do your best and try to relax, the gas in the room just causes discomfort so please do your best to maintain control.” He reiterated, “Above all, do not panic.”

The squad filed into the smoke-filled room and turned to face the sealed area. “Very good,” announced the officer, “Second squad, remove your masks.”
As`Zaman took a deep breath, pulled the mask from his head and stood at attention. He waited for Ayyub to ask the squad a question or two when Recruit Falawi panicked. The corporal saw Falawi’s mask fly across the room and the look of surprise on Junior Lieutenant Ayyub’s face.
“Uh…uh…You are dismissed!” muttered the officer as the recruit ran toward the exit and bounced off the wall.
Mohammed Bey suddenly remembered that like most chemical warfare training buildings, the architect who designed this structure was a sadist –The exit was via a simple series of turns: Right, left, right and out the door. Falawi, in his chemically blinded panic, managed to run into each wall and the door at full tilt. He fell twice.
By the time he cleared the exit, Corporal As`Zaman was laughing hysterically, especially when he saw the recruit flopping on the ground because he ran headfirst into the tree standing about three paces from the door. Mohammed Bey turned to face the slight breeze and felt the stinging in his eyes lessen. Thirty meters away, Recruit Awwal and Recruit Tafara stumbled from the other gas chamber, coughing uncontrollably. Awwal threw up and As`Zaman began another bout of laughter.


Dal Barracks, Monday, August 14, 3037 1300 Hours

Mohammed Bey rolled up his prayer rug after leading midday prayer and looked forward to going over the next day’s slate of classes.
“Corporal As`Zaman,” inquired Junior Lieutenant Ayyub, “have you seen Staff Sergeant Yabouk?”
“He didn’t even show up this morning, sir,” shrugged As`Zaman, “We’re actually ahead on the classes, though.”
“Really?” the officer nodded as he pondered the possibilities, “Hmmm, would you possibly have time to take a look at my quarterly supply request forms?”
“The twenty-two dash sevens?”
Ayyub smiled, “That’s right!”
“I’m not sure…,” said the teen, “…I still have to cover tomorrow’s classes…Perhaps if I had an office to work in…”
“No problem, Corporal,” said the Junior Lieutenant, “we have an extra office and you could have the adjoining private room.”
“I might need some help as well,” said Mohammed Bey as he accompanied the officer to the barracks.
“Whatever you need,” responded Ayyub.
Corporal As`Zaman nodded, “The recruits slated to be clerks –Have them sent to me at once.”
“The two girls?” Ayyub nodded, “They are all yours.”


Snack Bar, 1300 Hours

Staff Sergeant Yabouk sat down with a tray heaped with couscous and roasted lamb. He was in good spirits and sipped his mint tea in comfort. The sergeant smiled and waved to an approaching familiar face.
“What are you doing here?” asked Sergeant K’taj.
Yabouk laughed, “What does it look like?” He motioned to a chair, “Have a seat.”
The lead training instructor took his place at the table and signaled for an attendant, “Mint tea, please.” He then regarded his fellow NCO, “Shouldn’t you be engaged in training the sorry lot at Dal Barracks?”
The Staff Sergeant chuckled, “Yes, yes, I should,” he spied his tea, “but that corporal you sent has been filling in for me.” He sat back and stretched his legs under he table, “It’s like I’ve been on vacation for a week –Thanks for sending him.”
K’Taj looked at the other NCO, “Are you talking about Corporal As`Zaman?”
“Yes!” laughed Yabouk, “I see why you wanted me to keep an eye on him, he’s really got a future.”
The lead training instructor’s eyes grew wide, “When I said to keep an eye on him, that isn’t what I meant –He’s a troublemaker.”
“Ridiculous!” replied Yabouk, “he may be just a boy but I’d put him and his squad against any produced by this training camp.”
Sergeant K’taj sneered, “Hah! I have a hundred dinars that say different.” He tapped the table with his finger, “A week from now there will be an Escape and Evasion training class for the Fourth Arkab –I’ll enter my best squad against yours.”
“Oh, a wager, eh?” the Staff Sergeant offered his hand, “Done.”

Dal Barracks, 1700 Hours

Mohammed Bey sat at a desk and sat back in his chair while Junior Lieutenant Ayyub leaned over his shoulder, reading the display.
“Is that all there is to it?” asked Ayyub.
The corporal shrugged, “Although this unit isn’t a full company, you have to maintain a supply room for a full company instead of waiting to see the unit’s size.” He filled in the approval code the commander gave him and sent the order form, “Even though we only have two squads, we still are a company and should be supported like one.”
The Junior Lieutenant looked hopeful, “Does that mean I get my own vehicle?”
“Sir, I took the liberty to order the proper equipment for your unit,” replied As`Zaman. There was a knock at the door. “Enter,” said the corporal.
Recruit Yasmina Awwal stuck her head through the door, “Sir, Corporal, we have your dinner,” she stepped into the office carrying a tray. Recruit Susaa Tafara followed Awwal; she also carried a tray with covered plates.
Mohammed Bey shut down his terminal and moved it aside, “Very good, I am famished!”

Staff Sergeant Yabouk wandered through the barracks and stepped into one of the rooms, “Sergeant Buzuhl, have you seen the Commander?”
Buzuhl jumped to his feet, “Sergeant!” He stood at attention, “They are working in the Corporal’s office.”
“What do you mean?” asked Yabouk.
The sergeant replied, “The Junior Lieutenant let Corporal As`Zaman occupy the office next to his.”
Yabouk nodded, “That makes sense –Carry on.” He pounded down the hall.


Dal Barracks, Tuesday, August 22, 3037 0800 Hours

The recruits wore their full field gear and patiently waited for the shuttle. “You should have told me about this plan when you first made the bet, Sergeant,” said Mohammed Bey.
“It kind of slipped my mind,” replied Staff Sergeant Yabouk. “I know you will do alright.”

Junior Lieutenant Ayyub drove up in his new Sekkura –An Arkab Legion light off-road utility vehicle. “The shuttle is on its way,” he announced. “I am happy to inform you all that those who finish the course will be awarded a four-day pass.” He looked at the recruits hopefully, “You all have done so well in training, and I know you will make me proud.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” responded Sergeant Buzuhl, “I’ll make sure we all do our best.”
Mohammed Bey frowned. Sgt. Buzuhl, a Tuareg, made a point to do as little work as possible, and never hesitated to pull rank on the other recruits when there was work to do and assigned himself as a supervisor.

The shuttle ride over the paved road to the maneuver field was slow. The day was warm and sunny and Mohammed Bey noted they had left the flatter coastal area and entered the rain forest further inland. The corporal closed his eyes and slept.


Adal Maneuver Field, 1030 Hours

“Each of the six teams has been issued a map of the area and a list of eight checkpoints,” announced the Arkab Legion instructor, “but you only need to have the judges at four of the checkpoints to sign your map in order to complete the course.”

Mohammed Bey looked over his squad: Sergeant Buzuhl, Recruits Awwal, Falawi, Ruza and Tafara. He worried that the two young women would have difficulty keeping up, especially when carrying almost twenty-five kilograms of equipment. While the Arkab trainer rambled, he looked over the map and took his time orienting the map to his current location. A large passenger aircraft flew overhead and he whispered to himself, “Vector to final approach, Runway zero three zero…” He smiled to himself.

1130 Hours

The trainers released the teams at five-minute intervals, each with a final goal that crisscrossed the maneuver field.
Corporal As`Zaman showed his fellow squad members the route he marked off, “The terrain is going to be a little rough but we’ll have the best chance to get past the roving patrols.”
“Let me see that map,” said Sgt. Buzuhl, “The first checkpoint is right here, not ten minute’s walk.”
“Sergeant, the trail that leads to it is open,” replied Mohammed Bey, “it’s an obvious trap.”
“Listen, I’m the ranking soldier here,” snapped Buzuhl, “we’re going to this checkpoint first,” he glared at the other recruits, “because I said so.”

Dal squad trudged through the knee-high grass and As`Zaman looked across a shallow gorge that the trail paralleled –Had it been his choice, they would be in that gorge instead of rounding a small hill.
“Halt!” an Arkab infantryman sprang up from the grass. Two more emerged from around the bend, followed by Sergeant K’Taj. Captured in the first fifteen minutes of the exercise, Dal squad now had to find five checkpoints in order to complete the course.

“I should have bet that you sorry lot couldn’t finish the course,” taunted K’Taj. “You walked right into a patrol as if you were strolling through a shopping mall.” He looked at his chronometer, “You have five minutes before we start chasing you.”

Mohammed Bey took the map, “Buzuhl, the next time you disagree with me, I will kill you.” He glared in K’Taj’s direction, “I should slit your lazy Tuareg throat for allowing that fat dog to capture me –That won’t happen again.” He looked at the rest of the squad, “If you want to finish this course, follow me.” He took off toward the gorge at a run.

The gorge was a dry streambed lined with thick brush and trees. The walls were steep and varied between three and five meters in height. Mohammed Bey slowed down to allow the rest of Dal squad to catch up. “Sgt. Buzuhl, I am surprised that you’re joining us.” He could hear men running in the distance, “This way.” Mohammed had planned to scale one of the sides of the gorge but had not while being pursued. Buzuhl’s hesitation had also led the enemy soldiers to the gorge.
They had reached a dead end, surrounded by steep walls. “What are you going to do now?” shouted the Tuareg.
The corporal turned in a circle, “The guava tree,” he said, “the limbs are smooth but very strong –Climb!” He pushed the recruits toward one of the walls.
One by one, the recruits scaled the guava tree, passing their backpacks to the cliff above. Mohammed Bey could hear the pursuing soldiers closing as he leaped from the upper branch to solid ground. “Put your gear on, quickly now!” he whispered.

“We have you now!” shouted the plump sergeant as he closed. He stopped when he saw the three infantrymen milling about in confusion, unsure of which direction their quarry escaped.
“What’s the matter, lard ass?” shouted Mohammed Bey “Can’t follow real soldiers?”
Sergeant K’taj bellowed something in return but Dal squad was already sprinting across a clearing to a thick stand of trees.

In a moment of respite, Dal squad managed to take a rest break in a secluded area surrounded by two-meter tall elephant grass. The recruits sipped from canteens and Mohammed Bey had each of the recruits redistribute their pack loads.
“The women will be able to keep up if we lighten their packs between five and ten kilograms,” said the corporal.
“And we would do better time,” sneered Buzuhl, “If we left the women behind.”
“We all finish the course,” announced As`Zaman, “Our squad has to finish as a team.”


1300 Hours

“How do we cross, Corporal?” asked Recruit Ruza. The clearing seemed to stretch for many kilometers and a patrol was hiding at the narrowest point. The grass was knee-high in most areas but in others, there was but cracked, dry dirt. Crossing would require covering over two hundred meters at almost a crawl.
“We’ll go in teams of two,” said As`Zaman, “the first across will signal the next team and so on.”

Recruit Awwal hid among the shadows and she watched Mohammed Bey wave to the next team.
“Keep an eye out for patrols, Yasmina,” whispered As`Zaman. He heard the low hum of an engine and caught the glimpse of a light all-terrain vehicle as it emerged from the patrol’s hiding place. He signaled for the team to get down.

From where he knelt, Mohammed Bey could make out Sergeant K’Taj sitting at the wheel, slowly casting about. Disgusted, the fat NCO drove off to another part of the maneuver field.

Recruits Tafara and Ruza crawled most of the way across the field and rose up to make the last fifty meters in a dash.
“I was worried,” said Mohammed Bey.
“That vehicle almost ran me over,” gasped Ruza, who took the time between breaths to sip water from his canteen, “I heard K’Taj talking on the radio –He knows where our checkpoints are.”
“Should I be surprised?” whispered As`Zaman. He smiled, “We’ve reached three checkpoints out of five.” With a wave, he motioned for the last team to cross.

1400 Hours

“We know that Sergeant K’Taj has a map like ours,” said Mohammed Bey, “and has been laying in wait for us, usually with two or three legionnaires.”
“How do avoid him?” asked Buzuhl.
“Avoiding him is easy,” replied As`Zaman, “we could simply backtrack and hit those checkpoints that are no longer guarded.” He pointed at the last checkpoint –Where his team had to report, “No matter where we go, we must eventually wind up at this point.”
Recruit Awwal asked, “What do you propose to do?”
Again, Mohammed Bey referred to the map, “Note that this road separates the Adal Maneuver field with the Kussil field –All we have to do is cross the road here and cross again near the goal.”
“Wouldn’t that be cheating?” asked Tafara.
“This is war,” said Mohammed Bey as he folded the map, “there’s no such thing as cheating.”

1500 Hours

The road that separated the maneuver fields was the usual, utility road –two lanes, paved, and very straight. Other than the stretch of pavement, there was nothing separating the fields but low wire fences on each side. The only patrols that ventured along the road were those shifting position and riding light vehicles. Dal squad crossed into Kussil Maneuver Field without incident.
The trees that lined the maneuver fields were tall and dense, the squad actually made very good time covering the last two kilometers before deciding to cross back near the checkpoint.

“This will be the most difficult part,” said Corporal As`Zaman, “the number of guards here are far more that what I expected.” He sat down in the shade and looked over the map.
“Why don’t we see how well the checkpoint itself is defended?” asked Recruit Awwal.
Mohammed Bey nodded thoughtfully, “That does make sense.”


1630 Hours

Sergeant K’Taj growled to himself before talking over the radio, “They have to be coming in this direction, pull back the other patrols.”
The dozen or so guards lazed in the shade and sipped water from their canteens. The men sprang to full alertness when the Sekkura drove up but relaxed once again when they saw Senior Lieutenant Ayyub and Staff Sergeant Yabouk.
“I’ve heard that Alef squad got captured three times,” said Yabouk, “They may finish the course sometime after midnight.”
“I doubt if your people will ever complete the course,” retorted K’Taj, “none of the patrols have seen them since we caught them just after they started –They are probably still hiding.”
The officer looked at Yabouk, “I hope they make it back before dark.”

The judge took off his helmet and poured some cool water over his close-cropped hair.
“Could you please sign this for me?” asked the corporal, his map held out.
With a nod, the Captain pulled the pen from his pocket and initialed the map, “All eight checkpoints?” He looked at the six members of the squad and smiled, “Good work.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Mohammed Bey. He looked sat the resting men, “Is something going on?”
“I’ve really no idea,” replied the officer, “Sergeant K’Taj seems to be coordinating the patrols.”
“Is he?” said As`Zaman, feigning amazement, “How are they doing?”
“Each of the teams has been captured at least once,” said the judge, “it is impressive this year.”
“Please pardon me, sir,” whispered the corporal, “I have to report in.” He and the others of his squad marched quietly up to their commander, “Good afternoon sir!”
Junior Lieutenant Ayyub almost dropped his canteen, “Corporal!” He returned the salute.
Yabouk’s face broke into a wide smile.


Dal Barracks, 1900 Hours

“Are you certain?” asked Junior Lieutenant Ayyub, he looked disappointed.
“Yes, sir,” said Staff Sergeant Yabouk, “they want him as soon as possible.”

“So, they finally located my paperwork,” said Mohammed Bey. He busied himself with packing his duffle bag, “tell them I’ll report in after the weekend.”
“Yes,” nodded the officer, “you did earn the time off.” He was just getting used to having the corporal around, “I want to thank you for helping me organize the company.”
“It was a pleasure, sir,” said As`Zaman.


Carthage Bay, Friday, August 25, 3037, 1830 Hours

The sun was setting, Saba and Tahis, the loyal bodyguards, waited by the limousine while As`Zaman carried his board up from the empty beach. He wondered what kind of dinner would be ready at home.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Friday, August 25, 3037, 1930 Hours

Mohammed Bey walked into the busy kitchen and politely nodded to the short woman covered from head to toe with cloth, “Hello mother,” he said, her eyes suddenly brighter as she saw her son. He deftly stepped around the servants helping his mother peel and chop vegetables and pulled the door to the large chill box open, “Chicken tajine, eh?” He pulled a bottle of cold mango nectar from the shelf, “You all go through too much trouble for me.” Using his elbow, he closed the chill box and headed to his room. The teen still wore his wet suit and he looked forward to rinsing the salt and sand from his body.

As he strode along the long hallways, As`Zaman noted something different about how the servants behaved around him but just could not figure out. It was as if they knew something that he didn’t and despite their veils, he could sense that the female servants looked at him differently.

When Mohammed Bey returned to his room after showering, there was a soft knock on his door. “One moment,” he said, he looked in the mirror and adjusted his robe before opening the door enough to look out, “Yes?”
A young servant in full purdah stood at the door, eyes downcast, with a missive in her hand. “A message for you, Young Master.”
He noted the New Anaheim seal, “Why thank you,” he said, taking the folded paper. He could not think of the servant’s name but his interest was now on the letter –It was from Darya Morrigan.

The teen sat at his desk, broke the missive’s seal and unfolded the paper.
“My Bey,
I hope this message finds you well and happy with your assignment.”
As`Zaman smiled and chuckled softly at this and settled into his chair.
“It has been a long summer, with my parents reminding me why I chose to attend a school far away from them. Fortunately, New Anaheim provides countless entertainment possibilities for yokels so my parents have not always been around, although they threaten to drag me around with them (the horror!).
“I can’t believe that I’m looking forward to another year of Sun Tzu –I’ve been reading a lot, as usual. I just finished Meyerhofer’s Second Succession War ‘Stuka Pilot’ and have started Matsuda’s ‘I Flew for the Dragon’. I know you may not be interested in the details of aerofighter operations but both of these books give a good insight on how skilled pilots think and how they select air and ground targets.”
Mohammed Bey made a mental note to add the books to his reference library.
“The team sent to evaluate the materials left in the mansion also examined the Electra. It seems that the old aircraft was a faithful restoration but the most significant thing was the thin coating of a preservative polymer similar to the chemical used by the Star League for long-term equipment storage. That explains how centuries old Star League caches turn up with usable equipment instead of reduced to unusable garbage. The polymer is similar but better in many respects. Samples of the preservative polymer were found in several barrels on the mansion grounds as well as in the hangar.”
The teen nodded, knowing the value of this discovery. He leaned over the desk and continued reading.
“According to one of the reports I have reviewed, the information needed to produce the preservative is stored on the computers found on the property –that will give my parents something else to celebrate.”
“We went out to dinner the other night at a new place called ‘George’s Café’ and George says ‘Hi.’ The steak was great and George says he has a rare one for you –on the house.”
Mohammed Bey sat up as he suddenly remembered how hungry he was.
“Since we could now afford it, I’ve had corrective surgery for my eyes and no longer have to wear contacts or glasses… Funny, I have worn glasses for most of my life and it may take a while to get use to not wearing them. For a while, I was afraid I might have to wear a pair of non-prescription glasses just to adjust… It is like suddenly having your security blanket taken away. I know I am being silly because you did not care whether I wore glasses or not and I should be happy not to have to fuss with them any more.
How I wish you were here –Whenever I face a challenge, I hear your voice assuring me, telling me to trust my own judgment.
“I have to end this letter now as I have to keep it down to a single page and postage is by the gram. It may take a while to get to you but I do not like the idea of those creepy guys from Comstar reading my mail.
Much love,
Darya”
As`Zaman folded the letter, carefully placed it in a drawer and closed it. He changed into his duty uniform, his fingers brushing the sergeant rank insignia on his collar. “Maybe I’ll have a snack before dinner.”

He opened his door and stepped out of his room. The servant who had delivered the message knelt next to the doorway. “What are you doing there?”
“I am waiting, Master,” she replied, her veiled face looked up, an expectant look in her eyes.
Mohammed Bey sighed, “Yes, well, what are you waiting for?”
“Your orders, Master,” she replied.


The kitchen was busy as ever with the final preparations for dinner when the door from the dining room swung open.
“Mother!” called Mohammed Bey as he stepped though the door.
The small woman motioned the other women in the kitchen to carry on with their duties, “Yes, my son, what it is?”
The teen pulled his mother aside, “I don’t keep slaves, mother.”
The woman shook her head and wiped her hands on her apron, “Oh, her,” she began, “Shakira was part of the judgment.”
“What are you talking about, mother?” he questioned, “What judgment?”
“Did you forget?” she asked, “You served as a judge in Algedi and condemned the Azulah family.” She shook her finger; “Those members that could not be absorbed by Clan Najjaf went to Clan Kahman –My Clan and from my Clan to you, my son.”
He nodded, “Yes, I remember,” he shrugged, “I am a soldier and I really don’t need servants.”
“You have Ali,” his mother reminded him.
“Ali is different,” explained the youth, “he tends to my battlemech.”
“You need more servants now, my son,” she told him, “now that Ali will be busy tending to your machine.”
Mohammed Bey rolled his eyes, “Mother, I certainly can’t have servants waiting on me while I’m living in barracks.”
“And why not?” asked the Sheriffah, “It is the right of your station, my son.”
“That may be, mother,” responded the youth, “but surely you cannot expect me to have a young female in my presence without a chaperone.”
“I know this is new to you, my son,” she explained in a gentle tone, “but she is a slave –you are to regard her as little more than any other article of property –no chaperone is needed.”
As`Zaman saw the futility of arguing, perhaps he would discuss the matter with his father when he returned from Dieron. “Yes mother,” he sighed, “you are correct.”
The woman hugged him, “I just want what’s best for my angel.” She turned to the servants in the kitchen, “Hurry and set the table, my son is hungry!”
Mohammed Bey avoided the servants as he walked through the entrance to the dining room.

2030 Hours

His stomach full, Mohammed Bey returned to his room to find Shakira still sitting beside his door. “Still here?” he asked, “Aren’t you going to have supper?”
The girl shook her head, “I was told to wait until all the other servants have eaten, Young Master.”
“When did you eat last?” he asked her, his brows suddenly knit in annoyance.
The girl bowed, “Late last night, my Master.”
Resigned to deal with the situation, he commanded, “Stand up.”
“Yes, Master,” she muttered softly. She stood up, eyes forward and awaited his next order.
“Your name is Shakira?”
“Yes, Master.”
“My name is Mohammed As`Zaman,” he told her, “do not call me ‘master.’ You may address me as ‘my Bey.’”
“Yes, my Bey,” she replied.
As`Zaman nodded, “That is better,” he took her hand, “Come with me, Shakira, you will sit with me in the dining room.”

The servants were still clearing the dining room table when As`Zaman returned, Shakira in tow. “Bring out some hot food, tea and dessert,” he ordered.
One of the servants bowed, “My Bey, the servants are about to dine in the kitchen.”
“Do as I have ordered,” Mohammed Bey commanded, “My servant and I shall dine as pleases me, not the servants.” He added, “Now go, or I shall have you whipped.”

2130 Hours

Mohammed Bey sat at his desk and tapped out a list on his keyboard, “…soap, shampoo, a folding futon, sheets, blankets…” He looked at Shakira, who sat on a cushion on the floor; she wore a clean set of clothes and a new veil. “We could get most of these from storage but I will have to send you to shop for new clothing with one of the women.”
“My Bey,” she replied, “you don’t have to…”
“I shall be away at the reserve battlemech training center,” he told her, “I cannot take you with me so you have to be taken care of while I am not here.”
“The other servants told me you would be very kind,” commented Shakira. She lowered her eyes; “They threatened to beat me if I ever displeased you.”
His eyes narrowed, “If any of the other servants touches you without my leave,” he said, “I shall personally whip them –you will hear me announce so on the morrow.”
Shakira knelt at his feet, “For over a year I have lived in terror, not knowing what the next day would bring,” she said, “I wore the same clothes I wore when the clan elders took me and my mother from my home.” She looked up at him; “My mother’s family could only take one so I was sent to Clan Kahman as part of the Judgment of Najjaf.”
“I will allow you to send word to your mother,” said As`Zaman, “and you could tell her that you are well and work in the household of a great clan.”
The young woman began to weep.
“I shall set the alarm,” he said, “There is much to be done this weekend.” He pulled off his boots and stepped over to his bed, “Are you certain you only need a sheet?”
Shakira arranged her cushions in a corner and pulled the sheet over herself, “I am fine, my Bey.”
He dimmed the light and lay on his bed, carefully taking his longsword from the rack on the wall and placing the sheathed blade on the floor between them before resting his head on the soft pillow and closing his eyes.


Fourth Arkab Legion Reserve Battlemech Training Center
Tuesday, August 29, 3037, 0800 Hours

Sergeant As`Zaman walked from the lot where he parked his motorcycle to the administrative office.
Captain Ahwaz greeted him as he walked through the door, “Ah, Mohammed Bey, good morning!”
The sergeant bowed, “Good morning sir, how are you?”
“I am fine, thank you,” replied Ahwaz, “How far have you gotten, Sergeant As`Zaman?”
“I’d really like to attend classes today, sir,” he told the officer, “my in-processing is pretty much completed.”
“Here, let me see your papers,” said Ahwaz, he took As`Zaman’s folder and opened it, “I could sign you off on the remainder here.”
“That would be great, sir,” smiled the sergeant, “Now I have to see how much I’ve missed.”

Mess Hall, 1200 Hours

The dining facility was small since most of the cadre lived off base. Mohammed Bey did not mind eating there –the food was decent and it was cheaper than eating at the snack bar.
“Hey there, Sergeant!” greeted Lieutenant Sardan. He smiled to the youth as he took his place at the table.
“Anwar Bey, that was a good review this morning,” returned the teen, “I can’t believe that I’m the only one attending.”
“We don’t get a lot of mechwarriors processed though here,” said the captain, “most go straight to their permanent assignment.” He gave As`Zaman a reassuring smile, “My maintenance class isn’t as important as the Colonel’s maneuver training.”
“The Colonel?” asked Mohammed Bey, “Not Commander Karaja.”
The captain shook his head, “Karaja’s no mechwarrior,” he sipped his tea, “You’ve met the instructor, Colonel Benhaddad.”


Battlemech Hangar, 1300 Hours

“You should move back home,” said Mohammed Bey as he paced the catwalk ten meters above the concrete floor. He wore a cooling vest and carried his rare, Star League design neural helm. “Think of the home-cooked meals.”
“I don’t mind staying in the barracks,” replied Ali. He adjusted one of the Mongoose’s sensor antennas, “The drive is almost an hour as well.” The servant was a few months older than Mohammed Bey and was the son of the battlemech’s previous technician.
“We could get a small groundcar if you are not comfortable with riding a motorcycle, Ali,” reasoned As`Zaman, “I’ll even let you drive.”
The corporal smiled, “That is very generous of you, my Bey!” He tucked his spanner into a slot in his belt, “I think it would be better for me to tend to your Mongoose before you need it and after you’ve taken it out.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “You have a point, Ali, and when we are assigned to a permanent station, we will have to settle for what housing is available but you should at least come home for a couple of days.”
“You do have a point there, my Bey,” replied the technician, warming up to the idea.
“Anyway,” added the teen, “we have a new servant there, about sixteen, who I know you’d like.”
Ali’s face brightened, “Really?”
As`Zaman nodded to his technician. He then climbed into the Mongoose’s cockpit.

Adal Maneuver Field, 1500 Hours

As`Zaman examined his display and walked his Mongoose across a field of tall grass. He peered though the rear camera display and spotted the Grand Dragon moving up behind his machine, barely able to keep up.
“You needn’t wait for me, sergeant,” said Colonel Benhaddad over the comm., “I know this path well enough to find my way home.”
“I would never leave my commanding officer behind, Madam Colonel,” replied Mohammed Bey, “and I’d make a point not to stray too far just in case I ran into trouble.”
“Do you expect trouble?”
“Not here, of course,” he laughed, slowing his machine, “are there any maneuvers planned?”
The heavy battlemech drew close, “Maneuvers?” asked Benhaddad, “Even the local militia rotates elements to Arkab and Algedi for training.”
As`Zaman sighed in disappointment, “That means I will have to wait until I am transferred to my permanent assignment before receiving serious training.”
“I may be retired, Sergeant As`Zaman,” she replied, “but if you want training, I could put together something for you.”


Dear Darya,
I pray you are well and that your studies weigh not so heavy upon your shoulders. Allow me to express my gratitude for your letter, as it was the solitary joy in an otherwise bleak summer.

Bureaucracy and human pettiness wasted far too much of my time –I cannot wait until I am finally assigned to a real, front-line unit.
At least I have had time to familiarize myself with my Mongoose. My Mongoose! Compared to pounding around in an ancient Stinger, the Mongoose glides over the training field at a walk and practically flies when I push it into a sprint. There is nothing like this machine –passed down for over five generations in my family and yet like many machines in Azami hands, loving care has kept it preserved over the centuries.

Surfing has been a blessing –Nothing relaxes me like shooting the tubes after a week of boredom in uniform. Sometimes I just sit astride my board, listen to the sound of the waves, close my eyes and take in the scent of the living ocean. Sometimes I wonder how I could leave all this and yet there is something that calls me to travel to the stars.

My father’s assignment to the Dieron Military District General Staff keeps him away from home for long periods. With Ras Al `Haq a stable and independent nation, the Combine has less to worry about from that front, although I could see them crying for help from the DCMS when the Lyrans choose to expand their borders. It is just a matter of time –be forewarned. These people want to enslave the entire the Inner Sphere. Fortunately, despite all the help the Davions may offer, the Lyrans will still fight like Lyrans.

Now that your situation has changed, perhaps my parents may consider a meeting with your parents. I know that idea makes you cringe but I have to follow our traditions –I am just glad Uncle Ahmed agreed to act as a mediator and he has evaluated what information I could provide. Yes, now you can join the exclusive club of people who are little more than bargaining chips between families. At least my uncle is aware of how important you are to me and he has promised to do his best. Pray for us.

The universe is an endless expanse yet I can close my eyes and you are beside me. There are times when I wish I could erase what I feel in my heart, tell you to go your way and I can go mine without looking back but I cannot. So is the burden of being human, such is the power of love.

Sincerely,

Sergeant Mohammed Mazigh Hajj ben Maruf As`Zaman Bey,
Sherif of the Barheilabad Rif,
Defender of the Faith


Fourth Arkab Legion Reserve Battlemech Training Center, Simulator Lab
Friday, September 1, 3037, 1400 Hours

Mohammed Bey struggled with the controls as he maneuvered his Mongoose over the thinly wooded hill. His lasers raked the Rifleman’s rear torso but without serious damage.
“A lot harder than the academy, isn’t it?” taunted Colonel Benhaddad. The Rifleman’s arms rotated to cover its rear arc and blasted away at the prancing light battlemech.
His damage displays flashed and heated air filled his enclosed pod, “Refreshingly so, Madam Colonel,” his machine sped behind cover, followed by a spray of cannon fire. “This is almost like being in a real battlemech.” He checked his scanners and changed his course.
Benhaddad pushed a perspiration-soaked lock of auburn hair from her face and gasped as the battlemech flashed by, almost a blur of speed. Another chaotic exchange of fire and the heavy machine lost an arm.
Much to his consternation, Mohammed Bey’s Mongoose toppled over due to a missing leg. “Ugh! Good shooting.”
“This isn’t over,” she warned. The Rifleman leaned over and poured fire at the stricken machine, destroying it.
“Hey!”
“In this situation,” Benhaddad reminded him, “you either shut down or keep fighting.” She flicked a set of switches, “You accept the risks if you keep fighting but if you shut down without having to eject, and there’s a good chance that you’ll get sent back with your mech.” The simulator shut down and the pilots unbuckled themselves from their seats.
“That’s one thing we really didn’t cover at the academy,” admitted As`Zaman, “I guess this would be one of many lessons I have to expect when I get my assignment.” He took off his neural helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow, “These simulators give you quite a workout.”
“That they do, Mohammed Bey,” commented the colonel in agreement. She ran her fingers through her almost scarlet hair and opened her cooling vest slightly –enough for As`Zaman to blush uncomfortably.
“I guess I had better head to the showers and prepare to go home,” he said.
“Have you any plans for dinner, sergeant?” she asked, “I’m making b’steeya…”
Surprised by the sudden invitation, he hesitated for a moment, “I’m not sure, Madam Colonel…”
“And you can stop calling me that,” she scolded, “I am retired and here as an instructor –You may call me Deirdre.”
“Let me call home and let them know that I won’t be in for dinner,” he decided, “I shall see you this evening.”


Barheilabad Heights, 1800 Hours

Mohammed Bey easily found Colonel Benhaddad’s street and stopped at a caste iron gate. He pressed the button at the entrance and the ornate gate slid open. The teen pointed his turbocycle through the opening and sped up the paved driveway.
The Benhaddad house was typical in design to many of the buildings on Dabih –red tile roofs, thick off-white walls of Mediterranean design, reminiscent of towns on Terra’s North Africa. The two-storey structure could have been part of a villa of ancient Rome, overgrown with ivy and surrounded by well-manicured trees.
As the young man approached the heavy front door, it swung open and he stepped into the home.
“Good evening, Mohammed Bey,” greeted Deirdre Benhaddad; she stood at the foot of a curving flight of stairs that lead to the second floor. “I was just about to check the oven, please make your self comfortable.” She bowed slightly and walked through a portal that opened into a dining room, the flowing dress she wore drifted about her feet and trailed like a shimmering mist.
The teen shrugged and kept occupied by looking over the collection of photographic images displayed over the mantle. An image enshrined with black ribbons was obviously the colonel’s late husband. The round face, gentle eyes and the thick, dark handlebar moustache seemed to reach out over the years and challenged the passing of time. Mohammed Bey felt the loss of not knowing the man as a person.
“I brought you some mint tea,” announced Benhaddad.
As`Zaman stepped away from the mantle and meekly took the glass, “Thank you, Madame Benhaddad.” He sipped the sweet, cool liquid.
“Deirdre,” she corrected.
“Madame Deirdre…”
“Just Deirdre, my Bey,” she bowed with a smile on her coral lips.
He began to feel uncomfortable, “You needn’t go through so much trouble for me,” he began, “you should have had a servant bring me my tea.” He made a point to avoid staring at the woman’s breasts –She would put Tanaka’s enhanced figure to shame and he suddenly realized where Rachel inherited her better features.
“My servants have been dismissed for the weekend,” she replied as she slowly spun on her heel, “Dinner shall be served very soon.”

Mohammed Bey washed down the last bit of b’steeya with some mint tea, “Utterly without equal,” he said, “I am glad I accepted your invitation.”
Deirdre nodded, “I value a compliment from you, my Bey,” she said, “I happen to know that you have very good judgment in these sorts of things.”
“Milady is far too kind,” he said.
“My Bey is too modest,” she replied, “I happen to hear a lot of very favorable things about you,” she added, “I know Rachel was too embarrassed but in retrospect, she really wanted to thank you for what you did concerning that Ikeda fellow –as would I.”
The teen felt his face grow warm and he stared at his empty plate –he wanted to forget all about that incident. Now it was fresh in his mind once more, Ikeda’s hand striking Rachel’s face, his rage as he charged across the busy street to stop the bully’s abuse and how Rachel eventually protected her abusive fiancé. “You don’t know how long it took me to drive the memory of that…that…” Unable to finish, he looked up at her, tears welling in his eyes.
When their eyes met, Deirdre sensed just how profoundly the incident scarred the young man and she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt –as if she had slapped his innocent face for no reason at all. “I am so very sorry…” she said, her voice soft, barely above a whisper. She rose from her chair and rushed around the table to kneel at his side, “Please forgive me, my Bey,” she pleaded, looking up at him, “You have nothing to be ashamed about, my heroic angel.” She stood up and kissed his cheek, “I promise, I will never hurt you again.” Whatever thoughts she had about discussing her objections to Rachel’s engagement into the Ikeda family of Murchison would have to wait.


Deirdre Benhaddad’s eyes opened to her dimly lit room. It was dawn and the sun just below the horizon. Half-asleep when she heard the shower running, she languidly pulled a chemise over her bare form and ventured to the balcony. Mohammed Bey stood in the walled garden, his prayer rug at his feet. She tiptoed into the bath and looked into the mirror. She took painstaking care to remove the disarrayed makeup and brushed her long tresses –everything must be perfect for when he returned to her.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Fourth Arkab Legion Reserve Battlemech Training Center
Monday, September 3, 3037, 0700 Hours

Corporal Ali Iften sat in the cockpit of his master’s Mongoose and proceeded with the pre-operation diagnostics. He grew up watching his father tend to this machine and treated it dutifully, not as the twenty-five ton instrument of war or common vehicle –an object washed, fueled and oiled but as a living thing. One could imagine Ali as the personal groom for a mighty fusion-powered warhorse, tending to it on a daily basis from before dawn to after dusk, running its monthly diagnostics check every week, calibrating its sensors every day. His father often told him that the Mongoose probably worked better now than when it first left the factory.
The teen checked the environmental settings –His master preferred his interior an almost frigid sixteen degrees with very low humidity. He checked the drinking water seals and temperature then the dates on the ration containers to make sure they were fresh.
His eye caught movement on the local sensor –a human approached the hangar bay at a walk and he peered through the windshield to see Mohammed Bey as he opened the access doorway to the bay.
The sergeant halted, looked up and waved.

“Thank you for treating me to breakfast, my Bey,” said Ali. He sipped kaveh and nibbled on a buttered roll, “but I really should be preparing your Mongoose for today’s exercises.”
As`Zaman shrugged, “It is nothing, my friend,” he replied while he stirred his tea, “You devote so much time caring for my battlemech, it is the least I could do for you.” He continued, “There is plenty of time before I have to report to Colonel Benhaddad’s class.”
“If my Bey would forgive me,” whispered Ali, “but your absence at home was noticed and I could not with certainty answer any inquiries regarding your whereabouts.”
“I am a soldier in the Arkab Legion,” replied Mohammed Bey, “I answer to the Legion –If anyone at home wished to locate me, I have my communicator.”
The technician nodded, “I shall remember your words, my Bey but…”
The sergeant noted his servant’s reluctance to speak, “Continue, Ali.”
“Master, I was able to meet the new servant,” began Ali, “but she would not speak to me without your leave.”
“Please forgive my lack of forethought;” said Mohammed Bey with a humble bow, “I shall personally introduce you to Shakira when we return home this afternoon –That means we must complete tending to our Mongoose by sixteen hundred.”
“We, my Bey?” asked the corporal. He signaled for an attendant to pour more kaveh.
As`Zaman nodded, “Of course, I cannot trounce around the maneuver field all day and expect you to tend to our Mongoose alone.”
Ali smeared honey butter on another roll, “I guess you are right, my Bey.”

Adal Maneuver Field, 1100 Hours

“Stay in formation, sergeant and keep it close,” said Benhaddad. Today she piloted a Jenner and she led Mohammed Bey on a grueling close-formation dash through the heavily wooded hills.
“Affirmative,” responded As`Zaman. He adjusted the gains on his proximity sensors and moved his battlemech closer to the speeding machine.
“That’s better,” the officer purred, “you are such a fast learner.”
The teen glanced at the time. The colonel had been smirking at him all morning as if they shared a secret –which they did. “Thank you, colonel.”
“My servants will be away this coming weekend,” she announced, “I was wondering if you had any plans.”
As`Zaman nearly caused his battlemech to stumble –all he needed was someone monitoring the frequencies. “I may,” he replied, unwilling to carry on this sort of conversation over the radio, “allow me to check my schedule and perhaps we could discuss plans over lunch.”
“That is a fantastic idea, Sergeant As`Zaman,” she agreed, “By coincidence; my servants have packed a picnic lunch for us.” She added, “I brought lamb curry –your favorite.”
Mohammed Bey delayed his response –How did she know? The last meals she had prepared for him were all his favorites. Was it coincidence? He had to allay his doubts, “That is very thoughtful of you, Colonel,” he commented in a cheerful voice, “how did you know?”
Deirdre Benhaddad smiled to herself, “Believe it or not, Rachel paid very close attention to you and what you liked.”
The teen was at a point where hearing Rachel’s name in conversation no longer bothered him –she had made her choice and he had to get over it. The instructor’s answer made sense –Mohammed Bey never discussed details about Rachel with his parents but Rachel was the kind who would tell her mother about the people she met in school. “How thoughtful of you to remember, Colonel Benhaddad,” he told her.

The Jenner slowed to a walk at the top of a hill, halted and turned to face the bay far below, “Look at the view, sergeant,” commented Benhaddad, “we have shade trees and soft grass.” She shut down her battlemech and popped the access hatch.
Mohammed Bey shut his machine down as well and grabbed his mess kit as he tossed his mesh ladder from his hatch. He sat atop the battlemech’s head, looked out over the panorama and had to agree –it was a lovely view.

Deirdre had already spread a large cloth out upon the ground and knelt beneath the shade of a birch tree. She smiled up at him as she pulled thermal containers from a small pack, “I’ll have everything laid out in a moment,” she told him.
“Is there anything I could do?” he offered, feeling useless.
Benhaddad held out a case, “Pour the tea, dear.”
Blushing slightly, Mohammed Bey filled the colonel’s drinking tin with the cold, sweet liquid then his own, “Here we are.” He raised his tin, “To my lovely and gracious hostess.” He took a long drink. The mint tea was delicious as well and his eyes met hers as he lowered his cup, “I cannot believe I am having a picnic here with you.”
“Oh, what is unbelievable about it?” she asked, “The day is perfect, is it not?”
As`Zaman knelt upon the soft cloth, “On second thought, I was wrong,” he told her, “this is what we should be doing,” he took her hand and gently kissed it.
“Control your self, sergeant,” she laughed, “this is a military reserve and we are in uniform.” She drew her hand away slowly, “let’s eat first.” She piled a plate with steamed rice and ladled curry stew with chunks of lamb and vegetables over it all. “Here you are.”
“Thank you,” said Mohammed Bey, as he took the plate, “this smells wonderful!”
She smiled coyly at him as she fixed herself a smaller portion, “I hope you like it.”
He nodded as he pushed some stew into his mouth with his hashi. He closed his eyes to savor the taste. “Mmmmm!” he exclaimed, his face the image of joy.

1500 Hours

The long walk back to the hangars was unusually silent. Mohammed Bey’s mind was sorting out his thoughts. He had committed himself to spending another weekend at her house –he could not help it, he was attracted to her since the first time they met over a year before. He recalled the stunning black evening gown Deirdre wore –it left her smooth, white shoulders bare. Her green eyes were soft and expressive. When he first talked to her, he found her intelligent, witty, educated, and even esoteric. She made the teenaged girls he knew look like shallow nonentities.
The usual thoughts harassed him –He did not love Benhaddad, he could not. There would be so much to discuss this coming weekend and he would need the next few days to organize his thoughts and formulate what he would tell her.

Mohammed Bey walked his Mongoose slowly though the cage-like structure of metal pipes and Ali operated the control panel. The pipes had dozens of nozzles mounted on them and as the battlemech entered the frame, high-powered jets of water scrubbed the machine’s surfaces. Ali cut the water pressure when the Mongoose moved clear of the framework.


1645 Hours

A pair of turbocycles cruised under the arch of Cyprus trees that lined the long drive leading to the collection of large, whitewashed buildings. Greeted by servants, Mohammed Bey and Ali parked their mounts in the spacious carport and took their time tending to the cycles before entering the main building.
“Hello, mother,” said Mohammed Bey. He waved to the veiled women busily ordering servants about the kitchen. She paused to bow. The teen smiled, “Ali is home for dinner as well, mother.” He saw happiness in his mother’s eyes before he turned to the cold box and pulled two containers of fruit nectar, “Here,” he said, handing one container to Ali.
“Thank you, master,” said Ali. He bowed to As`Zaman’s mother, “Greetings, Sheriffah.”

The teens sipped their juice as they made their way to Mohammed Bey’s quarters. From the hall, the youth could see Shakira sitting beside the door. “You don’t have to wait out here,” said As`Zaman. He opened the door, “Come in.” The three entered the room, “Shakira, this is Corporal Ali Iften –he is the technician who tends to my battlemech,” he turned to Ali, “Corporal, this is Shakira, one of my servants.” He stepped back, “I have to go to the kitchen, why don’t you two get to know each other while I am away?” he stepped back into the hall and closed the door.

On his way to the kitchen, Mohammed Bey met his sister Malaika. “Hello there,” he said happily, “I want to thank you for taking Shakira shopping for clothes and those other things teen women need…”
“Oh, don’t mention it, dear brother,” she replied, “you said to treat her like a sister so we had fun.”
As`Zaman took her hand and walked with her, “I’ve introduced her to Ali,” he whispered, “wouldn’t they make a nice couple?”
Malaika grinned, “That’s so sweet of you, brother!” She hugged his arm, “You’re making matches as an elder would.”
“Shakira is so sad and Ali works so hard for me,” he told her, “they just seemed made for each other.” He caught the scent of cooking, “What’s for dinner?”
“Ha! Mother’s been expecting you,” announced the girl, “roast leg of lamb, brother!”
He put his arm around his sister’s shoulder, “You all treat me like a grand sultan!”
“Mother thought you’d be staying at home while waiting for your assignment,” she told him, “we were wondering where you were last weekend.”
“Oh, that,” muttered As`Zaman, “I had some extra training to attend to –I’ll be doing the same this weekend as well.”
“That’s a shame,” pouted his sister, “mother only makes special meals when you’re around.”
He hugged his sister again, “Well, you may tell Kalila that I’ll be home every night from now until Thursday.”
Malaika grinned and kissed Mohammed Bey’s cheek, “Thank you brother!” She skipped off to tell her twin sister the good news.

Dinner was very quiet –as the man of the house, Mohammed Bey sat at a table with Ali while the women served them. He ordered Shakira to tend to the tea, so she could be in sight. When they completed their meal, As`Zaman bade Shakira to dine with the servants then report to his quarters when she finished.
“How do you like her?” asked Mohammed Bey.
Ali blushed slightly, “She is suitably modest and very polite, my Bey,” he whispered, “Her eyes are beautiful as well.”
The sergeant smiled, “I shall have her tend to your wash as well as mine.”
“You don’t have to do that, my Bey!” he replied, “I do fine on my own.”
“Are you certain, Ali?” he questioned, “one day she might be working just for you.”
“My Bey is very generous,” said Ali with a low, humble bow, “Certainly Allah blesses you for your generosity.”


Firing Range, Tuesday, 0930 Hours

The target moved along its fixed track while the Mongoose’s lasers flashed chaotically, most of the shots flying wide.
“Focus, sergeant,” urged Benhaddad, “keep your upper torso as steady as possible.”
“Yes, Madame Colonel,” he replied. His attempts to hit the next target were slightly better but his scores on the gunnery range would not win him any awards.
“This is the hardest part of training,” she reminded him, “the legions specialize in their ability to acquire and engage targets faster than anyone else –you have to use your sensors, your gyroscope, and your reflexes, not just placing a pipper on the target.”
“I understand,” he responded. The teen wrestled with controls but a battlemech at the range was nothing like a training machine with simulated weapons firing at other training battlemechs mounted with sensors. In the academy environment, a near miss often scores as a hit and the simulated combat is at closer ranges.
“Your mount has to be kept as stable as possible,” instructed Benhaddad, “then place your sights on the target and fire.”
“Yes, Madame Colonel.”

1300 hours

The mess hall was empty but was always open due to the varied shifts. Mohammed Bey was happy that the cooks made food to order. He sat across the mess table from Benhaddad. Both of them wore loose robes over their cooling vests. The colonel picked at her vegetable salad and reviewed the morning’s exercise, “Don’t be so impatient,” she told him, “You have all week to practice.”
“What I really want to know,” he said, changing the subject, “is when I am going to get my assignment –I hope my orders aren’t fouled up again.”
Deirdre shook her head, “Let me look into it for you,” she told him, “I’ll do my best to get some answers.”
“Would you do that for me?” his face grew hopeful, “You have no idea how anxious I am to finally join the active Legion.”
Benhaddad’s face suddenly grew somber, “Yes, I’ll be happy for you, Mohammed.”
As`Zaman noticed her change in spirits, “I’m sorry… but I can’t stay here, you realize that.”
She bowed her head, “You have your career ahead of you, I know that…”
Three soldiers walked into the mess and stood in line. Mohammed Bey began to feel uncomfortable, “Can we discuss this at another time?” Deirdre nodded in agreement and they bused their trays.

“Do we go back to the firing range this afternoon, Madame Colonel?” asked the teen.
“No, not this afternoon,” she said firmly, “we should get as much maneuver training a possible –it will be much more important, especially if you plan to lead.”
Mohammed Bey nodded and headed to the pad where his Mongoose stood.

Thursday, 1900 Hours

Mohammed Bey and Ali were just about to sit down to dinner when a commotion in the greeting room commanded their attention. The door to the dining room suddenly opened and a large, grinning man strode in, “Where is my favorite nephew?”
“Uncle Ahmed!” shouted As`Zaman. He stood up and ran to his uncle and mentor, dodging the scrambling servants who set another place at the men’s table. The two hugged, “I knew that approaching flame was the Al-Idadah.”
“It is good to be home for my sister’s cooking,” chuckled Ahmed, he reached over to the table and plucked up a glass of tea, “I’m glad I ran into you –I wanted to ask why you turned down my request.”
As`Zaman looked at his uncle, “Request?” He was puzzled, “I have received nothing.”
The gray-bearded trader scratched the side of his face, “Yes, I sent a request for a couple of pilots for an escort mission, figuring that you’d be available.”
“Is the position still open?” asked the teen, “I am available right now!”
Ahmed laughed, “Let’s have dinner first, and we could discuss the details.”

“I still don’t understand how Fourth Legion Headquarters would have my response,” mused Mohammed Bey, “I was still with the recruits due to the administrative error, unless the response was also an error.”
“That’s not important,” the elder told him, “at least I know you’re coming with me.”
The youth leaned forward in his seat, “What is the nature of this assignment, uncle?”
“Several months ago, one of my many associates ran across an obscure system just beyond Rasalhague,” he began, “We have to meet him enroute but I’m having trouble scraping together the right force.”
“Why is that?”
The elder shrugged, “The Legion could not afford to send a company’s worth of pilots on what might be a long mission.”
Mohammed Bey’s interest was piqued, “What have you assembled so far?”
Ahmed looked somewhat embarrassed, “I have one pilot under recommendation who’s still on the Al-Idadah, I have several machines loaded as well but there is a Jenner here that I have to pick up.”
The teen turned to Ali, “Have your gear packed as soon as possible, Ali.”
Ahmed chuckled, “No need for you to rush, dear nephew, I don’t plan to depart until Sunday.”
“Sunday?” muttered the youth, whatever plans he may have had for the weekend were now uncertain. The table now set, Mohammed Bey motioned to his uncle, “Come, let us enjoy a meal prepared with loving hands,” he nodded to Ali, “yes, eat first and make preparations later, my friend.” He looked about, “Shakira, our tea!”
“Right away, my Bey!” responded the servant. She carefully poured the tea for each of the men.
“Now, uncle,” said As`Zaman as he carved the fillet of steamed salmon on his plate, “tell what you can about this mission.”

Barheilabad Heights, Friday, 1700 Hours

Mohammed Bey had to use the vague excuse of last minute preparations to get away from home this evening. All that day he was filled with anticipation and foreboding for the weekend. The sudden appearance of his uncle threw his prepared speech into confusion –How would Deirdre accept his decision to leave so soon? The young soldier stopped in front of a windowpane to look at his reflection and make certain that his uniform was presentable. Benhaddad greeted him at the door; she wore a shimmering gown of green sequins that clung to her figure like a second skin. He first noted that the color of the dress matched her eyes and then he saw that she wore far less makeup than the previous Friday. Again, an odd suspicion gnawed at the back of his mind –did Rachel tell her all these details, including his distaste for makeup?
“Please come in and make yourself comfortable, my Bey,” she bowed, “welcome to my humble home.”
He returned the bow, “Milady Deirdre, never before have my eyes beheld anyone so radiant in beauty.”
She pulled him close and kissed his cheek, “My sweet prince,” she purred into his ear, “I should have told the servants to take the week off.”
He held her close, “Why are you all that I desire but cannot have?” his lips met hers for a brief moment.
She gently pushed him away, “My young lord,” she said coyly, “I suggest we at least sample what I prepared for dinner.”
As`Zaman felt the blood pounding in his temples, he squeezed her hand, “Of course, my queen.” He escorted her to the dining room.
“Please be seated, my dear,” she whispered. Benhaddad disappeared into the kitchen while the teen sat at the table. Moments later, she returned with a large serving tray heaped with couscous and a variety of roasted meats. “Perhaps we could go to the upstairs terrace and pretend we are sharing a tent under the stars.”
“I like that idea,” replied the youth. He stood up and offered to take the tray, “Here, let me carry that and you could lead the way.”
Deirdre placed the tray on the table, “I know, let me get the refreshments and we’ll go up together.” She again left through the kitchen door and this time returned gripping an ice bucket by the handle. It had a cloth draped over it. She had a basket tucked under her other arm, “Let’s go, my Bey.”

Benhaddad crossed the dimly lit boudoir to open a door to the terrace. Mohammed Bey tiptoed after her, carefully carrying the large tray. The teen halted at the door and watched as Deirdre moved from one candle to another, lighting them. A canopy covered most of the terrace and a thick carpet covered the tiles. The only furniture he could see was a low table surrounded by thick cushions. As`Zaman placed the tray upon the table and stood patiently. “Sit down, Mohammed,” she said, as she lit the last candle. “I’ll be right with you.”
As`Zaman sighed and rested upon a large cushion. With a shrug, he picked up a slice of warm meat and popped it into his mouth. “Not bad.”
Deirdre placed the ice bucket beside the table and took a bottle from the basket, “Darling, have you ever tried champagne?”
He shook his head, “No, I haven’t,” he looked at the bottle, “Does it contain any alcohol?”
“A little,” she replied, “I happen to like it.” She carefully removed the cork and filled two delicate glasses with the bubbling liquid.
The teen frowned, “Please allow be to decline, Madame Colonel.”
“Madame Colonel, eh?” her lips curled in a smile, “What if I ordered you?”
He looked at her with disbelief, “Why do you do this?” He stood up, “Perhaps I should go…”
She sprang up with amazing speed, “Oh, no, don’t do that,” she hugged him, “I’m sorry, I was just teasing –please sit down.” He calmed down and let her guide him to a pile of cushions. She picked up a sliver of meat with her delicate fingers, “Open your mouth.”
He let her feed him several morsels and closed his eyes as he licked her fingers clean.

She gently wiped his lips with a soft towel and kissed him. As`Zaman reclined on a pile of cushions. He had removed his uniform tunic and shirt as not to spill any food upon his clothing. In his white undershirt and dress trousers, he lounged like a sultan while Benhaddad waited upon him. The youth slowly rose to his feet, “Please excuse me, my dear,” he whispered. He entered the boudoir on his way to the bath.
With a smile on her lips, Benhaddad sipped her champagne while waiting for Mohammed Bey’s return.

“I hope I haven’t been away too long,” apologized the teen.
Deirdre shook her head, “I knew you’d return my sweet angel.” She stretched her shapely form languidly over the silken cushions and looked up at him, “Come, lay down and relax.”
He glided to her side and let her massage his broad shoulders. “Tell me, Deirdre, why did you return my assignment orders?”
The woman’s fingers stopped kneading his muscles, “What ever gave you that idea, my handsome prince?” Her lips caressed his neck.
“My Uncle Ahmed mentioned a mission requisition sent through the Legion Headquarters,” explained As`Zaman, “since I have not been assigned an active duty slot, all information and inquiries are sent through the training commands.” He sensed that she was holding her breath, “You delayed me, didn’t you?”
Her full lips kissed his shoulders, “I didn’t want you to leave just yet,” she whispered, her arms slipped around his chest.
“Yes, that was obvious but I still do not fully understand why,” he allowed the hug, “You don’t love me.”
“Mohammed, I can explain,” she whispered, her arms pulling at him as he sat up.
“I’m certain you could explain,” he said as he brushed her arms away, “A good friend once told me that you could learn a lot about somebody by looking at their bathroom.” He rolled onto his knees and faced her, “Last week my visit to your bath was cursory but a few things stuck in my mind.”
“You found the pregnancy test kit, didn’t you?” she looked away.
“That and more important –your birth control perscriptions,” he told her, “They were many years old.” He put a hand on her shoulder, “You weren’t afraid of getting pregnant –you are trying to have a child.” He stood up, “I’m still confused though,” he said, “why are you doing this?”
Benhaddad looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes, “Think about, it Mohammed, you almost have it.”
He shook his head, “This is about Rachel, isn’t it?” He took a couple of steps and turned, “If Rachel marries Ikeda you would have to provide a dowry –your late husband’s Atlas.” Deirdre nodded but remained silent. His eyes narrowed, “By law, your husband’s battlemech would go to a firstborn son but that son wouldn’t be his.”
“I was going to say that the conception was artificial,” she told him, “people would believe that and find it acceptable.”
“Deirdre, you are thirty-six years old,” said the teen, “having a child at your age is still a risk.” He shook his head, “While others might find your story acceptable, what about me? That child would be of my blood as well.”
Benhaddad turned away, “I know, I was hoping that you’d be at your assignment without knowing that you were a father.”
“I would have found out,” he scolded, his fingers clenched, “what would you have done then?”
She bit her lip, “I would have then appealed to your sense of honor.”
“Honor!” he exploded, “You talk to me of honor when all this time you planned and plotted to use me!” He shook his head, “Who else but an instructor would have access to all of my school records, every comment from teachers and the school commandant?” He turned his back to her, “You grilled Rachel on what I liked, you no doubt asked my parents about my favorite meals as well –all to save your dead husband’s Atlas from falling into the hands of some cretins from Murchison!”
“It wasn’t at all like that!” Deirdre exclaimed. She sat up, her eyes flashing with defiance, “I admit that I collected information on you but you are making this all sound so cheap and tawdry –I worshipped my husband and all I have left of him is his Atlas.”
“Yes, Madame Colonel, his Atlas,” sneered Mohammed Bey, “You love that Atlas more than you love Rachel.”
“That isn’t true!” she cried. Benhaddad leaped to her feet, “You know the Combine! They’d take the Atlas away from Rachel and give it to that worthless man that she’s going to marry –because he’s an Ikeda, from a family willing to do anything to hold onto their property on Murchison.”
The teen stood in silence for a moment, then offered her his hand, “I am tired,” he whispered, “Let’s go to bed.”

The couple lay beside each other, staring at the dark ceiling. “I leave Sunday morning,” As`Zaman said, “I don’t want to see you again.”
“Please Mohammed,” she replied, her voice barely audible, “please don’t hate me.” She rested her head on his shoulder, “I could understand your anger but please don’t hate me.”
“No Deirdre, I refuse to hate you,” he murmured to her. His fingers caressed her silky hair and he pressed his lips to hers.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Now why does the Simon and Garfunkle song "Mrs. Robinson" keep running though my head?

_________________
Having more fun than a human being should be allowed to have-Rush Limbaugh
For more from Rush go here: www.rushlimbaugh.com
Still crazy after all these years.
Force of nature : :
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[img]http://www.heavymetalpro.com/countries/ ... chigan.gif[/img]

Into the Sea of Stars
Sunday, September 10, 3037, 0430 Hours

Mohammed Bey pushed a foot into the soft riding boot and paused when Deirdre softly moaned in her sleep. He put on the other boot and checked his uniform one last time before heading to the door. His fingers touched the delicate silver chain around his neck and he looked at the ancient bronze pendant with a crudely stylized horse head. She said it was from “La Tene.” With a shrug, he tucked the pendant under his tunic and buttoned the collar.

The teen arrived at his home and discovered Saba and Tahis, the family’s primary bodyguards, waiting. “Your luggage has already been packed, young Master,” announced Tahis, “I see your going away party ran late.”
As`Zaman was glad the darkness hid his features –his cheeks felt warm. “Yes, far too late,” he replied. The young man helped Saba place his motorcycle in the trailer behind the utility vehicle. He heard the front door to the house open and turned to see his mother flanked by her servants.
“I hope my dear son wasn’t planning to leave without a blessing from his mother,” said the sheriffah.
Mohammed Bey obediently walked over to the veiled woman and bowed, “Of course not, mother.”
She stepped closer and whispered into his ear, “I have been dreading this day, my dear angel,” she took his hand and placed something in it, “This talisman shall protect you from evil and danger, my son –wear it always.”
“Mother,” he questioned, “a talisman?” He looked at her in disbelief, “I have my faith in Allah to protect me.”
“Please wear the talisman for me,” she asked, “I beg of you to honor this request –a mother’s plea.”
The youth nodded and looked at the roughcast silver medallion on a leather cord –it bore an intricate eight-pointed star and swirling symbols of Amazigh magical wards. “I shall wear your talisman, mother, if it pleases you.” He hugged her and his younger sisters, “I shall return home, you will see.” He bowed to the servants, “Take care of Shakira.”
“Aren’t you taking her with you?” asked the sheriffah, “Her baggage is loaded as well.”
Mohammed Bey could sense that there was no argument, “Very well,” he sighed, “but if there is danger, I shall send her back.”

The Al-Idadah stood on the ferrocrete pad, awaiting its departure clearance. Mohammed Bey lay on his bunk and tried to fall asleep before the massive engines flung the old Union-Class dropship free of Dabih’s gravity and atmosphere and into space. There was much to clutter the young man’s weary mind –Deirdre Benhaddad, his slave Shakira, why instead of a bay, his Mongoose was sealed in a shipping container. Years of travel allowed him to clear his thoughts of burdens and lose himself deep in the dropship’s embrace.
As his eyes closed the ancient vessel he had called his second home for over seven years rumbled to life, lifted away from the planet’s surface and lulled the youth to sleep.

Mohammed Bey awoke to a light tapping at his door. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, increased the power to his stateroom’s illumination and touched the comm. button, “One moment.” The young sergeant pulled a shirt over his shoulders and pulled on his boots. “What is it?” he asked, still only partially conscious when he cracked the door open. He saw Shakira kneeling before his door, a covered tray in her hands.
“I have your breakfast, my Bey,” she announced, her head bowed, eyes lowered.
He was hungry. “How thoughtful of you, Shakira,” he said, “Have you eaten yet?”
The girl shook her head, “No, my Lord,” she held the tray up, “Ali told me to serve you first and I would dine with him and the other servants.”
“Ali is correct,” he commented. He opened the door and took the tray from her, “You may go now –I’ll be finished in about an hour.”
She touched her forehead to the carpet, “As you command, my master.”

Since Dabih was a regular stop, the Al-Idadah did not have to travel to the regular jump point. The stately, Star Lord Class jumpship, the Deriabahr, held station less than a week’s travel from Dabih. Mohammed Bey kept to a schedule of tactical simulator programs, exercise on the treadmill, sparring with the bodyguards and writing.

Dear Darya,

It is my sincerest hope that this letter finds you well.
I finally received my marching orders –Now all they have to do is let me know where I am going. Right now, all I have to do is travel with Uncle Ahmed so this part of the military is like being at home. All I know is my battlemech has been loaded into a shipping container and I have seen several tons of parts, components, munitions and military rations filling other containers. Maybe I will be joining a front-line unit.
I have been reading one of the books you recommended and it was been very insightful –I will definitely look into various anti-aircraft systems to boost defenses, although it will most likely be a while before anyone listens to my advice.
As usual, the next stop will be Algedi. There is a recharge station there and Uncle Ahmed has not mentioned anything about going planetside to see any of my relatives. My people consider Algedi a paradise, which is true if your idea of paradise is composed of untold stretches of sun-baked sand.
I have seen parcels marked for delivery to Arkab –I certainly do not want to waste all of my training on a parade-ground unit like the Sixth Arkab Legion. I would be pushing paperwork for the remainder of my career if I was stuck there –they call the Sixth the Legions’ Headquarters but from what I have heard, the unit is worse that the Reserves and if that is true, I do not want to be in the Sixth.
I shall let you know when I finally reach my permanent duty station.

Your friend,

Sergeant Mohammed As`Zaman Bey


Arkab, Zenith Jump Point, November 2, 3037, 0930 Hours

Mohammed Bey twisted his body, his simulated vibroblade flashed as he tumbled through the air past Tahis. The bodyguard’s own blade flicked at empty air, the teen’s legs bent as his feet touched the wall and he launched himself along the ceiling.
Smiling, Tahis bounded from the floor and spun his body toward the ceiling, weapon ready. Again, the two men glided past each other, weapon arms snaking, ready to strike. At the last moment, the teen pushed away from the ceiling to divert his vector. Unable to stop, Tahis bent his body, rolled his arms and spun about, barely avoiding As`Zaman’s attack.
“Not bad my Bey,” commented Tahis. His feet touched lightly upon the opposite wall and wiped the perspiration from his face, “you almost took out one of my legs.”
Mohammed Bey shrugged, “You were defending your upper body too well,” he replied as he turned the weapon off, “I had to try a different attack.” The two had sparred in the large cubicle that measured fifteen meters per side.
With a languid throw, Tahis sent a towel drifting across the cubicle to his student, “Maybe tomorrow we practice with paint guns,” he laughed.
The door opened and Ali stuck his head into the room, “My Bey, Ahmed Bey requests your presence in greeting the incoming personnel.”
The teen nodded, “Tell him I had to shower first, Ali.” He kicked off the wall and flung himself to the door.

In a comfortable utility uniform, Mohammed Bey folded his letters, wrote in their destinations and sealed each of them with a square of coded prismatic tape. He walked to the bay where his uncle and some crewmembers waited by the airlock and added a bundle to the outgoing mailbag, “These are for delivery,” he said. “How many people are we expecting on this stop, uncle?”
“Ah, just one, nephew,” said the trader, “this one comes with recommendations.”
“What manner of recommendations -from whom?” The teen gripped a handhold as they still drifted in zero gravity.
Ahmed Bey chuckled, “A letter of recommendation from the best of sources –you.”
Surprised at the response, the teen wracked his brains wondering which of his fellow cadets would be joining him on this so-far unexplained mission. Over the past couple of years, he had written dozens of recommendations for those he had trained with –each of them deserving his praise.
A shuttlecraft ferried the expected passenger from a jumpship waiting on station to the Deriabahr. When the door to the airlock finally slid open, As`Zaman’s jaw dropped. The first thing the youth recognized was the long, flowing cascade of deep blue hair, tight-fitting jumpsuit, shapely torso and dazzling smile. Mohammed Bey recovered from his shock and bowed, “Welcome aboard the Al Idadah,” he recited, “er, Miss Tanaka.”
“Caught like a dear in my headlights, eh, Sergeant?” she laughed, grasped the rail along the aisle and bowed, her jumpsuit opened low enough to flash him an embarrassing view of her cleavage. She stood up and winked, “I haven’t been given a rank yet but I look forward to being under you.” She grinned as the innuendo soaked in.
With a blush, the teen looked over to his uncle, who bowed as well, “Right…”
“Perhaps you should show Miss Tanaka to her stateroom,” suggested Ahmed Bey. He motioned to the crewmen who drifted into the bay behind Tanaka, guiding articles of her luggage.

“Here we are,” announced As`Zaman. He swiped the access card over the pad next to the door and the portal slid open, “After you.”
“Thank you my Bey,” responded Leila. She floated gracefully into her stateroom and activated the lighting, “Ooh, this is better than I expected.” The crew guided her luggage into the room and departed.
“I am glad you appreciate your accommodations, Miss Tanaka,” replied Mohammed Bey.
“Shush,” said Tanaka, she hugged him, “You don’t have to be so formal.”
As`Zaman held his breath as he wrapped his arms around her. He whispered, “It is so good to see you.” Despite her brazen behavior, he was truly happy to see Leila once more –her presence returned him to a time when his life was far simpler.
She kissed his cheek, “I’ve missed you and the others as well, Mohammed,” she said, a slender arm pushed her duffle bag to her bunk, “You’re probably wondering how I wound up here.”
The youth dipped his head, settled back and hovered next to the door, “You are probably the last person I expected to see here.”
“Well,” she began, “I returned to Luthien with my father and the first thing he does is he holds a party.” She laughed and shook back her hair, which drifted like a mane of living tendrils. She had to push a stray lock from her face, “Dear daddy invited several of his young, corporate lackeys over to meet me,” her eyes flashed with mischief, “I’ve never seen a group of soft, spoiled, fundament-kissers like the suits that showed up, all looking for a meek little wife to make the sushi for their own damn parties.”
As`Zaman had to laugh, “What did you do, challenge to duel them all?”
“Practically,” said Tanaka, “my dad and I got into a screaming fight and I packed up my stuff.” She sighed, “The local units didn’t want another pilot without a battlemech, especially a female. I remembered the eloquent letter you wrote for me and looked up your Uncle Ahmed –he hired me right off.”
“You traveled all the way from Luthien to get away from your father?” he asked, “What were you told?”
The young woman shrugged, “Yeah, I guess I’m a runaway,” she looked at him, “but I’m an adult so this is my business.” Leila smirked, “What have you been told?”
“Like you, nothing,” answered As`Zaman, “I guess it’s a secret.”
“Hey, fine with me,” replied Tanaka. “I really could use a shower –want to come with me?”
“That is very generous of you, Miss Tanaka,” responded Mohammed Bey, rolling his eyes, “but I’ve already taken one -I’ll direct you to the facilities.”
“You are always so serious,” she stuck her tongue at him, “I guess I’ll have to scrub my own back.”
As`Zaman tapped the wall with a boot and drifted toward the door, “By the way,” he commented, “thank you for dyeing your hair blue –it brings back many happy memories and you as lovely as ever.”
“As sweet as ever, my Bey,” she smiled. She held out her hand and he pulled her into the corridor.

“The showers are just past this intersection,” said Mohammed Bey, “my stateroom is just beyond it.” He pulled himself along the hallway using the railing that ran its length. The corridor curved slightly and followed the circular design of the dropship.
“I’ll remember that,” replied Leila, “just in case I have trouble sleeping.”
From around the curving hallway, Shakira floated awkwardly, “Oh, there you are, Master!” She steadied herself and bowed, “Your meal is ready but you weren’t in your room.”
“Master?” questioned Tanaka, an eyebrow raised, “You never fail to amaze me.”
As`Zaman looked at his servant, “Thank you, Shakira, I shall be in the dining room shortly.” He turned to Leila after he dismissed Shakira, “I know what you are thinking –it isn’t true.”
“Is she pretty?” Tanaka put her chin on Mohammed’s shoulder, “Does she keep your boots and things nice and polished?”
“Do you mind?” Mohammed Bey growled and flung himself up the corridor while Leila followed.
“Did you buy her?” Leila would not let up, “Hey, do I get a servant too?”

Rubigen Recharge Station, November 10, 3037, 1300 Hours

“Thank you for treating me to lunch, Mohammed,” said Leila, “It was a welcome change to the stuff we’ve been eating on the Al Idadah.” She looked at a map on the curved wall, “Could we check out the gift shop now?”
“That’s a good idea,” he said in agreement, “we have plenty of time while the Deriabahr is recharging and I’d like to send out a couple of cards.” The couple walked along the station’s lengthy corridor and enjoyed the feel of its artificial gravity. The Deriabahr, like many jumpships had a rotating ring that generated an artificial gravity as well but it was always a hassle to travel from the dropship to the ring just for a couple of hours of exercise each day.

“How does this spoon look?” Tanaka held up the ornate souvenir, “Too fancy?”
As`Zaman chuckled, “It’s your collection…” He pulled a card from its display, “Here’s a nice one.”
“For Darya?” she looked over his shoulder, “Yeah, she’d like an image of a formation of Slayers passing the recharge station.”
“She’s not your ‘hearts and flowers’ type,” commented the teen, “too bad they don’t have anything but picture books here.”
“Have you tried sending her hearts and flowers?” asked Leila, “That will shock her.”
“No, I think we are both far too cynical for that,” he stated, “She’d rather have a technical manual.”
“I have a manual we could both go over,” she offered, licking her lips.
“I don’t want to know,” he headed for the cashier, shaking his head.

1600 Hours

“God morgon. Jag heter Sergeant As`Zaman,” recited Mohammed Bey.
“God morgon. Jag heter Kavallerista Tanaka,” replied Leila.
“Varifrån är du?” continued the sergeant.
“What?” Tanaka wrinkled her nose, confused.
“Where are you from?” he translated.
“Okay,” she replied, “Jag är från Luthien.”
“That’s better,” sighed As`Zaman, “we should take a break –we’ll be making our next jump in an hour or so.”
“Ugh, Swedish lessons,” she shook her head, “I wasn’t warned about this.”
“Sure, you could be home making sushi for your executive husband right now,” he teased.
“What’s svenska for ‘damare’ smart guy?” Leila retorted. She pouted, “I’m going to get some rest.” She stood up and floated toward the door.
Mohammed Bey frowned, “I’m certain people from Rasalhague would understand if you told them to shut up.” He put his lesson cards away, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to you,” she demurred, “you could be so mean.”
“Have it your way, Miss Tanaka,” he stated coldly, “Perhaps I shall see you in the mess.” He closed the door after Leila departed and moved to his desk. He pulled himself into the seat and hooked an ankle around the post that fixed the chair to the floor. From a drawer a pulled a worn notebook and opened it, snatching the pencil as it floated free. His hand scribbled several lines:

The dearest pair of eyes I love
Entranced my heart beneath their spell
Bluer than the skies above
But whose they are I will not tell!

Those silky lashes, gentle, long,
Shade azure stars, flashing bright,
I praise and worship with my song
And see them in my dreams at night.

My soul is storming as the skies,
Tempestuous pain and happiness
I love those gentle pair of eyes
But whose they are I’ll not confess!


He closed the notebook; the pencil tucked between its pages and returned it to its drawer.
He heard the alarm in the hall sound, warning the crew and passengers that the Deriabahr was preparing to make its next jump. The teen suddenly felt tired.


Engadin System, Free Rasalhague Republic, December 18, 3037

“Are you serious?” Tanaka was overjoyed, “When do we head down?”
“Within the next couple of hours,” answered Mohammed Bey, “We have to re-supply so we may as well see what there is on the ground.” He held up his holopad, “Fortunately, Engadin’s Tourist Bureau transmits information on places to see and where to go while on the ground –The capital is called Yonkers.”
“I can hardly wait until we get on the ground,” said Leila happily, “It will be great to wear a dress again.”
As`Zaman smiled, “We’ll be burning in over Chrissumassu but we’ll be on the ground in time to welcome in the New Year.”
“Ooh, fancy restaurants, shopping…” Leila counted on her fingers, “dancing, more shopping…”
“We should be heading to our staterooms,” suggested Mohammed Bey.
Tanaka took his hand, “Let’s go to your room –I have to learn enough svenska in order to find the best bargains!”

Yonkers, Engadin, Friday December 29, 3037, 1700 Hours

Mohammed Bey, Leila, Ali and Shakira emerged from the large department store, arms full of boxes and laden with packages. “Ali,” said As`Zaman, “summon a cab for us.”
“Yes, my Bey,” said the technician. He stood on the curb and waved.
“Can’t we do a little more shopping?” pleaded Tanaka, “We landed here just at the right time for the sales!”
“Maybe I should just have my uncle rent you a container,” Mohammed Bey said, “This stuff won’t fit in your room.”
“They are not stopping, Master,” announced Ali.
“Taxi!” shouted As`Zaman, “Ali, take some of this stuff.” He held up a hand and a cab pulled up to the curb. He opened the door for Leila, “Let me take those.”
“Thank you very much!”
The driver opened the vehicle’s trunk; Ali and Mohammed filled the compartment with parcels. The teen tried to piece together a sentence, “God dag…till stationen…”
“I could speak Standard, sir,” the driver answered, “To the Spaceport, is it?”
“What a relief!” nodded the teen, “Please!”

“Isn’t this a pleasant drive?” commented Leila. She leaned over to the driver, “Could you tell us of a good place to celebrate the New Year?”
“To celebrate?” asked the driver, “I would recommend the Grand Plaza Hotel but it is very fancy.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she looked at As`Zaman, “you will take me there, won’t you? Please?”
Mohammed rolled his eyes, “Of course.”
“I can’t believe I’m getting paid for this!” said Tanaka. She snuggled up next to him.

Grand Plaza Hotel, December 31, 3037, 2330 Hours

“Are you sure you won’t have any champagne?” asked Leila, she held a glass in each gloved hand. The young woman looked resplendent in her ivory-white ball gown and tiara.
“Yes, I’m fine with my tea, thank you,” he replied. He sipped his tea to demonstrate his obstinacy on the matter. The youth dressed conservatively in a dark galabiyya robe and tarboush.
“Have it your way,” Tanaka gulped down the champagne in her left hand. The woman closed her eyes and smiled, “That was good…” In the distance, skyrockets lit up the clear sky and rumbled like distant thunder. “This is wonderful, Mohammed, thank you for bringing me.” She threw her arms around him.
On the balcony that overlooked the square, As`Zaman guided Leila in a slow dance. “It is my pleasure, my lovely Kavallerista.”
“I haven’t seen your uncle tonight,” commented Tanaka.
“He isn’t much for big parties,” said Mohammed Bey, “He was busy all week hammering out a trade contract with a munitions company here.”
Leila sighed, “Work, work, work –that’s all you men do.”
As`Zaman laughed, “There will be work enough when we get to our destination,” he lowered his voice as another celebrating couple walked by. “We may as well enjoy ourselves while we can.”
“As you command, my Bey,” replied Tanaka, she rested her chin on his shoulder.
The fireworks that had been intermittent throughout the evening suddenly increased and the bells tolled. Mohammed Bey glanced though the portal into the ballroom, “It is midnight, Leila –Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year, Mohammed,” she stopped dancing long enough for them to share a long kiss.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Verthandi System, Free Rasalhague Republic, February 22, 3038

From the bridge of the Al Idadah, Mohammed Bey observed the shuttle dock with the Jumpship Deriabahr. “They wish for us to land, Uncle?”
“Aye, my nephew,” replied the gray-bearded traveler, “Their leader insists upon an interview.”
The teen shook his head, “We have communication equipment,” he reasoned, “won’t we lose valuable time?”
“Lord Ulfgar is adamant,” said Ahmed Bey, “we require his cooperation so we shall take yon shuttle to the surface.”
“Very well,” sighed the youth, “I shall prepare to leave,”
“Inform Miss Tanaka that none of us shall wear Combine uniforms or insignia,” warned the elder, “from this point on, we are on a trade mission.”
“I see,” As`Zaman said, “we shall stow or military identification and carry only our company papers.” He pulled his Arkab Legion datacard and papers from his wallet and handed them to his uncle.
“Have you any of that candy left?” inquired the far-traveled trader.
“From the box Leila gave me for Valentine’s Day?” he asked, “Yes, I do. Do you want me to bring it with me?”
“Sure, you know how much I like chocolate.”


The light shuttle hurled through Verthandi’s atmosphere and made a casual circle over wide expanses of desert before correcting its course toward the world’s capital, Regis. Saba and Tahis napped as they usually did on long trips. Mohammed Bey adjusted his kefiyya and agal, making sure the traditional light headgear sat comfortably. Leila spent the better part of an hour preparing before the shuttlecraft turned for final approach. Desert gave way to rolling green veldt and that veldt surrounded the eroded remnants of the Rimwall, the result of an ancient asteroid collision. Numerous communities dotted that polar crater, now heavily wooded and marbled with dozens of interconnecting inland seas.
“I have twenty-five tons of coffee on order for our journey back,” mentioned Ahmed Bey, “I’m taking five tons along with us for trade.”
“The tourist bureau transmission said that the Azure Sea often has decent waves but this is the wrong time of year,” commented As`Zaman, “maybe when I shall bring my surfboard when I return.”
“What I am curious about,” injected Tanaka, “is who we have to be interviewed by –some elder?”
“The community here is rather esoteric,” replied the trader, “The man we are supposed to meet, Lord Ulfgar, would not fully explain but I am sure it has something to do with his religious beliefs.”
Mohammed Bey tapped at the keyboard of his compad, “Lord Bödvar Ulfgar?”
The older man nodded, “Yes that is he.”
“Odd, I thought he would be in Rasalhague,” commented As`Zaman, “reaping the rewards of being a veteran member of the Tyr Regiment.”
“Tyr Regiment?” questioned Leila, “Are you telling us he was one of those traitors?”
The teen chuckled, “One House’s patriot is another’s traitor,” he said, “It appears in this report that Lord Bödvar lost much during the Ronin wars as some of the fighting was centered on his holdings.”
Ahmed Kahman Bey shook his head, “That is a shame.”
“It says here that after the Ronin Wars,” remarked Mohammed Bey, “he turned mercenary with what was left of his personal retainers.”
“I suggest we not question why Lord Bödvar did not reap the rewards for his service and sacrifices,” cautioned the elder, “some leaders do not survive the transition from war to peacetime politics.”
“He has reaped a traitor’s reward,” sneered Tanaka, “but I shall be silent as I have little good to say of his kind.”


The small group stood in a short line, awaiting Customs processing. Save for the two agents in uniform, the starport stood empty. “Have you anything to declare?” asked the senior agent.
“We have nothing to declare,” replied Ahmed Bey, “our company is here to pick up merchandise and passengers then continue on our way.”
The assistant pointed to a pair of boxes that Saba and Tahis placed upon the inspection table, “What about those items?”
“Two cases of Masamune sake, uncle,” announced As`Zaman.
“Strange,” replied the bearded traveler, “those were found on an empty seat –I guess you get to keep them.”
The senior agent glanced through the group’s papers and stamped them, “Very well, have a good visit.”

“This is a particularly Spartan starport,” commented As`Zaman. “It employs very simple and functional architecture.” His eyes looked over the high, arched ceilings, painted white and lit with simple wall-mounted lamps. “This building looks as sterile as a hospital.”
“It isn’t very large either,” added Leila, “I would guess that they do not get much traffic.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Kahman, “it just isn’t tourist season.” He stopped and pointed to a large dial above one of the archways, “I remember, this place has a thirty-hour day –it’s twenty-one fifteen local.”

The group made their way through the building’s entrance and by a lone man standing before a parked limousine snapped to attention, “God dag, jag heter Sergeant Yngve Nykvist –är du Ahmed Kahman Bey?”
“Ja,” replied the trader, “jag är med min systers son,” he motioned to his nephew, “Mohammed As`Zaman Bey.”
The youth executed a salaam, “Hur står det till?”
“Jag är bra,” replied Nykvist, “tack så mycket.” He bowed in return, “I speak also Standard –your svenska is very good.” After the introductions, the driver opened the passenger doors and the limousine’s trunk, “Let me assist you with your baggage.”

“Friherre Bödvar is eager to travel,” said Nykvist, “we have been relaxing here far too long.”
“Have you any idea why he insisted that we come down here,” asked Mohammed Bey, “instead of speaking with us on the way to our destination?”
“Ah,” said Nykvist, “the Friherre is not the one who shall interview you.”

2345 Hours Verthandi

The limousine sped along the long, desolate roadway through ever-increasing forested hills. The sun drew low on the horizon when the vehicle finally approached what at first appeared to be a crude wooden palisade surrounding several large cabins. Smoke rose from stone chimneys and Mohammed Bey could see that the buildings were much larger than he first thought. The limousine halted near the entrance of one of the halls. Darkness fell suddenly and the air grew cold as Sergeant Nykvist showed the guests to their accommodations.
“How rustic this place is,” commented Tanaka “is this architecture traditional?”
“In a way it is,” responded their guide, “most modern structures in Rasalhague resemble those built by the Lyrans.” He opened the door to her room, “These buildings are modeled after the far more ancient structures of our people.” He tapped an ornate wall sconce and its glowing crystals filled the simple room with warm light.
“Very cozy,” said Leila. She looked at her watch, “So, what time is dinner?”
The veteran shook his head, “Dinner shall be in the main hall,” he gave an informal salute, “you have about an hour, and someone should come to summon your party.”

2500 Hours Verthandi

Mohammed Bey pulled an extra thick robe over his shoulders when he heard the knock on the hardwood door, “One moment, please.” He casually pulled the door open, expecting to see Sergeant Nykvist. Instead, the young man saw a tall woman, dressed in a simple, white linen ankle-length dress. A long, rectangular apron of blue cloth covered her clothes from shoulder to just below her knees and a pair of gleaming metal brooches held the uppers corners of the apron in place. At her throat, another brooch fastened a wool cloak over her shoulders. Her golden hair was pulled back to form a single, long braid that snaked down her back to mid-thigh. In her late thirties, the woman’s face was finely chiseled, her eyes glacier-blue and her lips tight and serious. The teen paused for a moment before saying, “Hej.”
“Ursäkta,” she replied with a slight nod, “jag heter Kapten Anderssen.” The woman stepped back from the doorway, “It is my task to direct you and the others to the main hall.” Her voice was even and businesslike.
Mohammed Bey indicated that he understood, “Yes, please lead the way.”


The stars glimmered brilliantly in Verthandi’s clear sky. As`Zaman noted how the sky, unpolluted by urban lights, resembled that of Dabih, his home world. Instead of a moon, Verthandi had a thin, veil-like ring made up of the dust and debris caused by the same asteroid collision that formed the polar oasis region.
The still Verthandi night was near freezing and the small group of travelers followed their guide, eager for the comfort of a warm room once more.
Two large, heavy wooden doors festooned with intricate carving opened to a spacious anteroom where the travelers could shed their insulated garments. A pair of female attendants took the robes and capes and hung them along a wall then pulled aside the tapestry that separated the anteroom from the vast hall. There were sixteen buildings surrounded by the large, circular palisade. Each of the buildings looked identical from the outside but served different purposes. The buildings themselves measured about twenty meters long, eight meters wide and stood about eight meters high, although the roofs of the each building looked like the inverted keel of a seagoing vessel.
The building called the main hall housed a feasting area, two long tables that ran nearly the length of the structure with a raised platform at the far end. On that platform was another table.
“What does this place remind you of?” whispered Leila to Mohammed.
The teen thought as he followed the others, “One of those Lyran fantasy holovids,” he whispered in reply, “With the Amazon…”
“‘The Karlon Chronicles’ –I agree,” muttered Tanaka, “Toss in some elves and dwarves and we’d have a real party.”
As`Zaman stifled a chuckle.

A scant two score people milled about the cavernous feasting hall, which would normally hold two hundred. Above the collective murmuring of the hall’s guests, a tenor voice rose in verse. Haltingly, Mohammed Bey translated the lines in his head.

Against the Dragon’s might; The fearsome blades of Tyr
Thunder roars on Kirchbach; Heralds the exiles’ return
Amid the War-Statues’ tread; A raven’s harvest found
Across our sacred homeland; Advance the Lords of Justice

From one star to another; The warriors of Tyr
Ride their mighty star-steeds; Upon the Dragon-hunt
Clouds of fire-arrows; Felled the iron war-men
Torn are the homes and farms; Flecked with dew of slaughter

Tyr’s labors left unfinished; The Gauntlet thus betrays
Skulking wolves of Tamar; Replace the Dragon’s claws
Form the mighty shield-wall; Whet the ready war-tooth
Around Tyr’s sparkling home; Foul enemies abound

As the travelers approached the far end of the feast hall, the milling people drew apart to give them room to pass, observing all the while as they drew nigh. As`Zaman noted that the people in the hall wore ornate clothing of similar design to their guide –the men wearing linen tunics and loose trousers, some with wool cloaks pinned with a heavy brooch at the shoulder. The young man also noted the men in the room wore weapons, many with heavy pistols while other men had wide, double-edged swords at their hips.
The teen’s eyes drew to the head table, now visible as the crowd parted. Upon an ornate wooden throne sat a man of middle age, his long brown hair streaked with silver, his deep blue eyes hardened with the exposure to many battles and harsh fortune. This was indeed the Friherre Bödvar Ulfgar as pictured in his historical journal.
“My Lord, I have brought the guests as you have commanded,” announced Anderssen, her voice cold, as if she was reciting a eulogy.
“Please take your seat, Kapten,” replied the Friherre. He stood up and bowed slightly, “Welcome to the last of my intact holdings.”
Ahmed Kahman Bey took a few steps forward to the base of the platform, “May the blessings of peace be with you, Lord Bödvar,” he said with a graceful salaam, “Allow me to compliment you on your bountiful hospitality.”
The Friherre motioned to the table to his right, “Please take your seats,” he looked across the hall and the remaining people dispersed to the tables, “Let us commence our meal.” Several servants entered the hall, carrying large wooden bowls of warm water. The guests washed their hands in turn, drying their hands on clean, linen towels.
The first course included pickled vegetables, accompanied with fresh baked, thick-crusted bread and butter.
Mohammed Bey whispered to Leila, “Why am I not surprised that there aren’t any hashi on the table?” He tore off a piece of the warm bread and used a knife to spread butter on it, “I find it very interesting.”
Ahmed Bey leaned over to the youth, “Pay careful attention to the manners of these people,” he let that sink in, “–you shall be traveling with them for many months.”
“What?” questioned the youth, “Where are we going?”
The elder motioned for silence when the servers brought a tray heaped with roasted meat, “Ah, I am famished!”

As`Zaman wiped his hands dry with his linen towel and set the cloth aside, the feast had gone on for well over an hour with several servings interspersed with songs or poetry. “Uncle,” asked the youth, “we aren’t here just to eat –when will our host speak with us?”
“Just be patient, nephew,” cautioned the trader, “he will speak with us when he is ready.”
“I can’t eat another thing,” complained the teen, “I hope this party is almost over.” He was about to take a sip of tea but put his mug down.
Again, the conversation in the room died down as the Friherre stood and bade his servants replenish each guest’s drink. He raised his silver trimmed drinking horn, “House Ulfgar welcomes our guest, Ahmed Kahman Bey and his retinue.” He drew the horn’s brim to his lips and drank a toast.
The others drank as well, which Mohammed Bey found relieving –the people did not seem so happy with their presence.
“This visit is an opportune one,” continued the noble, “and it may prove to be the means for House Ulfgar to once again resume its rightful place of leadership among our people.” This announcement drew hearty applause from the assembly, “Many months ago, Ahmed Bey sent me a unique offer to share, if I was so inclined, the profits of a twofold project.” He walked slowly around the table to step down from the platform, “The first part of this project is simple –assist a remote settlement with their harvest then protect that harvest from pirates.” He smiled, “That is the easier of the two projects.”
“On the same world,” he continued, “if the worthy Bey’s source is correct,” he added, “then we have an even greater treasure to gain –an ancient Star League cache.”
Murmurs of approval filled the hall and one man stepped forward, “Friherre, let me one of your number.” Mohammed Bey could see that it was Yngve Nykvist, who volunteered. More men stepped forward, each offering to throw in their lot.
The lord raised his hands, “Before we settle upon who accompanies me on this venture,” he began, “we must consult the spæwoman.” The noble paused as the hall grew silent. He turned to Ahmed Bey, “Come with me,” he said, “and we shall receive the spæwoman’s first requirements.”
The gray-bearded trader rose slowly, “Aye,” he strode to the leader, “I am ready.”

“What is this all about?” whispered Tanaka. She watched as the two men left the hall through a door behind the platform. “What is a spæwoman anyway?”
Mohammed Bey tapped at his compad, “Huh, I cannot find that term,” he looked up to see Nykvist approaching their table.
“A spæwoman,” said the veteran, “uses her skills and senses in divination to draw a map of a man’s fate.”
“A fortune teller?” asked Mohammed Bey, “In this day and age?” The teen shook his head, “I cannot believe it.”
“Do not be so quick to dismiss our traditions, young lord,” cautioned Nykvist, “there are few of us true believers left among the people of Rasalhague.” He placed his fingers upon a pendant that hung on a leather cord. Mohammed Bey noticed that several of the people wore similar items –at first glance, he thought the pendants were crucifixes but at closer inspection he saw that each pendant was a stylized runic letter “T”.

Mohammed Bey glanced at the time –perhaps a quarter hour had passed since his uncle had left the hall with the Friherre when a servant showed up at his table and requested that he and Tanaka follow him. The teen informed Tahis and Saba and the two guards nodded. The servant had the pair retrieve their thick robes and led them from the main hall to another building. Outside, the temperature had dropped below freezing and the wind whipped fiercely as the several people filed into the shelter.
The teen pulled back his hood and rubbed his chilled limbs as he made his way into the cramped and cluttered room, lit by dozens of flickering candles. He spied his uncle across the room, grasped Leila hand and whispered, “This way.” The two managed to slip through the dozen or so people summoned to the where the spæwoman read the runes of fate. “Uncle,” whispered the youth. The elder held up his hand to silence him. As`Zaman turned to look at where the rest of the people in the room focused their attention.
In the center of the crowded room, surrounded by a ring of candles, sat an aged woman swathed in voluminous robes, her head covered and only her long, slim, bony fingers exposed. Those fingers carefully handled a collection of palm-sized bone tiles scattered on the wooden floor upon which she knelt, her ancient frame bent forward. Across from the crone, Friherre Bödvar sat cross-legged, his sheathed war sword across his lap, his face set in a grim visage. Mohammed Bey recognized the man to the Friherre’s left –he was the one who recited poetry –he seemed alert and seemed to pay full attention to the scene before him. To the Friherre’s right sat the stern-faced Kapten Anderssen, her eyes seemed fixed on a something occurring in the distance.
As the old woman selected a tile and turned it face up, the people in the room held their collective breath. “Berkana,” muttered the seer.
Anderssen spoke, not in the level, unemotional voice, as before, her voice now seemed to drift in an invisible wind, “The birch tree… Rebirth, a new venture to be undertaken…” The gathering in the room murmured and nodded –this was indeed a good omen. The seer selected another tile.
“Man –reversed,” announced the officer, her voice eerily detached, “Separation from society.” Again, the others agreed, although their reaction was not as positive. They awaited the next tile.
“Tyr…” said the Kapten in a triumphant whisper. The restrained joy among the observers was obvious –As`Zaman recognized the rune as the same symbol worn by the Friherre and his people and he felt the hair on the back of neck stand up. The female officer continued, “The divine hand at work, victory and justice.” Suddenly, Mohammed Bey realized that his heart was pounding in anticipation of the next rune; he had been tired and bored while in the main hall. In this cramped, dark, room, he was now fully alert –and he could not explain it. The withered fingers turned another tile face up.
“Gebo…” exclaimed Anderssen. This time, some of the men stamped their feet and gave each other congratulatory thumps on the back. She added, “Gifts, exchanges, mergers, friendship and alliances.”
“How says our Skald?” inquired Ulfgar in a low rumbling voice.
The poet, who sat to his lord’s left, interpreted the runes, “We accept this venture,” his right hand touched the first rune, “it is far from the place we call home, away from our society,” his fingers tapped the second rune and moved to the third, “Tyr himself protects us! And we find justice!” The man had to pause as several others echoed his proclamation. He touched the last rune, “We are rewarded with good trade, friends and allies!” The collection in the room voiced their agreement with the interpretation but immediately became silent when the seer raised a hand.
With a voice hushed and aged, the spæwoman spoke, “Accept this task, Friherre, you and those who follow shall journey far beyond the imaginings of your fellows but be warned –Tyr is the god of law and the sacrifice for justice,” Mohammed Bey could see some of the men nervously look to each other. The ancient woman continued, “Yes, there shall be unimaginable gains, many trades, friends and allies as well.”

The Friherre pondered the spæwoman’s words in silence. He motioned to a servant, “Bring the Horn of Tyr.” The servant nodded and left the room. “Ahmed Bey,” he said, “I find it unfortunate that you may not accompany us on the journey.”
“What?” whispered As`Zaman, “Who will represent the company?” He suddenly felt warm so he removed his robe and loosened his tunic, leaving the collar open.
“I am too old to make such a long journey, my nephew,” answered the trader, “so I am assigning you to represent the interests of the Kahman Clan.”
“I-I can’t do that!” protested the teen.
“Nonsense! You just have to go along, my boy,” explained Ahmed Bey in a light tone.
Ulfgar shook his head, “We don’t need the boy,” he announced, “We can finish the job, come back and give you your share as we have agreed, Ahmed Bey.” He was about to say more when the spæwoman again lifted her hand.
The room grew silent as the old woman’s other hand shuffled the yellowed bone tiles. Her fingers drifted over the polished tiles for a moment and then stopped, “I cannot read him.” Her head lifted slightly while a low mutter moved through the gathered observers, “Let me see the boy.”
“I am no boy,” replied Mohammed Bey as he stepped forward, the other men giving him plenty of room to pass, “I am seventeen.” The Friherre stood up and the youth took his place.
The woman lifted her head in order to see As`Zaman’s eyes. The youth almost started as he saw a glimpse of the gnarled face, pale as ivory, her skin like the bark of an ancient tree –only her eyes gleamed with cold, blue fire. She blinked and a hand pushed his collar open. “Ah, you have powerful protection, young warrior.”
He nodded and felt the two medallions at his throat. The one his mother gave him felt warm.
“The ancient talisman you wear has seen the spilling of much blood,” she said, “and shall see much more before you pass it along.”
“What of the boy?” asked Ulfgar, “Do we leave him?”
Wrinkled fingers sought and turned a tile, “Who volunteers?”
“Yngve Nykvist is the first,” announced the sergeant, “I’ll go.”
The Kapten rose from her place and joined Nykvist, followed by the poet, “Ingmar Lindholm goes –you will need a skald.”
In all, their numbers totaled eleven. “Is this all?” inquired the Friherre, “Two years ago, five times this many would follow me without a second thought.”
“The fighting is over, my lord,” explained Nykvist, “many have gone home, back to business and farm, family and hearth –we cannot blame them.”
“What about me?” asked Tanaka, she had been quietly watching the proceedings, “may I join this party as well?”
“Out of the question,” declared Ulfgar.
Ahmed Bey interceded, “Miss Tanaka works for my company and comes with unimpeachable recommendations as a mechwarrior as well as a leader.”
“I have to agree,” injected Mohammed Bey, “she is a much better pilot than I am.”
Ulfgar frowned, “What says our seer?”
Tiles rattled as the crone shuffled them. She laid three out in a line and turned them face up. “There shall be fighting –and the one with blue hair shall fight alongside the chosen of Tyr.”
As`Zaman still felt uneasy, “Uncle, are you certain you cannot come with us?”
“He cannot go,” warned the old woman, “else he shall not return.”


Verthandi System, Free Rasalhague Republic, March 1, 3038

Mohammed As`Zaman watched the Deriabahr disappear on its first jump on its homeward journey. It took several hours to transfer the cargo from the Al Idadah to the Blood-ember, a Fortress-class dropship, including As`Zaman’s Mongoose.
“So, we’re heading out to the deep Periphery,” commented Leila. She took Mohammed Bey’s hand, “Let’s go see what these people have to eat.”
The teen sighed, “Sure, we have a few hours before we jump,” he pushed off toward the door, “I’ll see if Shakira and Ali would like to join us.”

Ali sipped his tea from a zero gravity container, “What is the name of the jumpship?”
“Tyrfing,” replied Leila, “the Friherre’s family owns it, as well as the two dropships attached.”
Shakira nibbled at her nutritional bar, “May I speak, my Bey?”
“Of course,” replied Mohammed Bey, “you may speak.”
“How long shall we be away from home, my Bey?” she asked.
The teen shook his head, “From my estimates, we should be back a year from now.”
“Traveling through space, sir?” inquired Ali. He appeared concerned.
As`Zaman nodded, “I am afraid so, my friends,” he revealed, “we’ll be making supply stops every other month but we still have to meet our guide.”
“Our guide?” asked Tanaka, “When do meet this guy?
“I’ve spoken to the navigator aboard the Tyrfing,” said As`Zaman, “we’ll be passing through Lyran space and several jumps off the regular map then we’ll hook up with the guide.”
“Master,” asked Ali, “is it true you consulted a fortune-teller?”
“Yes, I did,” admitted the youth, “it was required of us.” He pulled the tiny compad from his pocket and pressed a series of buttons, “By strange coincidence, this system wasn't always known as Verthandi.” The holographic screen flickered.
“That isn’t unusual,” remarked Leila.
“The original name for this place was the Norn system,” said Mohammed Bey, he then read, “In Norse mythology, the Norns are the demi-goddesses of destiny. They control the destinies of both gods and men, as well as the unchanging laws of the cosmos. They are represented as three sisters: Urd (Fate), Verdandi (Necessity) and Skuld (Being). They live at the base of the World Tree Yggdrasil in the realm of Asgard.”
“So of the three planets in the Norn system, Norn II is Verthandi,” reasoned Tanaka, “now the whole system is known for that one planet –Necessity.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Botany Bay, May 4, 3038, 2130 Hours

Leila Tanaka hid behind a strapped-down equipment pallet and slipped a new magazine into her pistol. She wiped the sweat from her brow and hooked an ankle around a cargo strap to steady her weightless body. Her blue knee-length braid snaked behind her, reacting to her slightest motion. Two shots rang out, the flashes from across the dropship’s vast cargo bay. The teen pulled her body flat against the pallet with her free hand and kicked, which sent her gliding along the floor.
Out of the corner of one eye, she caught a glimpse of movement among the shadows. Tanaka swung her weapon in line with her target’s estimated vector and stroked the trigger. Her pistol roared twice and her back struck the metal decking, causing her body to tumble. She cursed aloud, arms flailing for support, her pistol floating at the end of its lanyard. Her fingers snagged one of the support beams and Leila tugged at the lanyard clipped to her waist –it grew taught and she turned to look.
Mohammed Bey peered from around a ladder, one leg locked between rungs, a pistol in each hand, one of them at the end of her lanyard. “Bang,” he said.


The pair of teens made their way up the corridor, “It isn’t a game, it’s training,” said As`Zaman. He wore a loose-fitting gray jumpsuit with photoelectric cells to detect the infrared beams fired from the pistols they used. The weapons fired caseless blanks that provided recoil.
“I don’t care what you call it,” replied Tanaka, “I’m getting tired of playing it.” The blue suit she wore was more form fitting, a wide belt circled her waist and her holster hung low on her hip.
“You don’t get tired when you shoot me,” said Mohammed Bey. He grabbed a railing and stopped when they reached Leila’s room.
“That’s different,” she said, as she opened the door and pulled herself in. She closed the door and Mohammed Bey shook his head before heading to his stateroom.


2300 Hours

Mohammed Bey tapped the pad on the intercom, “As`Zaman.”
“Accept my apologies for interrupting your rest,” said the voice, “this is Sergeant Nykvist.”
“Yes, sergeant,” replied the teen, “what may I do for you?”
“Since our guide is late, the Colonel would like to take the Blood-Ember down to the surface,” reported the sergeant, “we have to replenish water and other supplies.”
“When shall we be getting under way?”
“Immediately,” answered Nykvist, “the Friherre also wants the `mechs taken out of storage and given a shakedown.”
“Very good, sergeant,” said As`Zaman, “have you informed Miss Tanaka yet?”
“Not yet, Friherre Mohammed.”
The youth smiled, “Please allow me to deliver the news –I am certain she will be thrilled.”


Bondi Beach, Botany Bay, 1000 Hours Local

The Fortress-Class Dropship, “Blood Ember” sat atop a hill overlooking rolling sand dunes and the pristine beach that ran for many kilometers. A pump vehicle sat on the shore. Half a kilometer of hose ran from the vehicle to the dropship.

Inside the Blood Ember, Mohammed Bey and Ali, his technician, busily finalized their pre-operation procedures and checks.
“Power output within tolerances, my Bey,” recited Ali as he observed his meter.
“Acknowledged,” replied As`Zaman, his gloved fingers tapped at his screens, “I’m ready to disembark.”
Ali signaled to the Quartermaster, who controlled all cargo and machine movement inside the vessel.
“Mongoose, this is Quartermaster Control. Mongoose is cleared to exit behind Miner Quad Three, disembark via Ramp Two.”
“Mongoose behind Miner Three via Ramp Two,” repeated As`Zaman. He switched frequencies, “Ali, monitor Five One Six Point Two.”
“Yes, my Bey.”
The Mongoose waited in its bay for the bright yellow, fifty-ton quad machine to pass. Gray smoke billowed from its low exhaust pipes. The teen shook his head as the industrial quad-legged machine stalked its way to the rectangular opening and down the gradual ramp at a snail’s pace, the normally fleet-footed light battlemech took baby steps and kept its sequence.
“Hey, Mohammed,” it was Tanaka on the frequency, “are you coming out to play or what?”
“Miss Tanaka,” responded the Azami, “I shall be joining you soon enough.” He slid his tinted glare screen down over his face, his eyes taking time to adjust to the brilliant, sunny day. “This is nicer than I thought,” his Mongoose waited for the quad to clear the base of the ramp and he pushed forward, his machine hitting the sand at a comfortable seventy kilometers per hour.

“Tyr’s blood! What in Hela’s realm is that thing?”
As`Zaman’s communications screen indicated that Lojtnant Wilfrid Magnussen made the comment. “What’s the matter, Lojtnant –failed your silhouette recognition?”
“I can recognize a battlemech,” snapped the officer, “but I haven’t figured out what manner of carnival ride you’re playing in.”
The teen turned his mech and sped along the dunes toward Magnussen’s Panther, which stood flanked by a Hunchback and a Trebuchet. He smiled as Leila’s Jenner closed to his right. The Mongoose shot past the group of heavier battlemechs at over a hundred kilometers per hour before they had time to react.
“Amazing,” commented Kapten Anderssen, her Trebuchet shuffled to face the two light battlemechs. “What else could you do?”
“The Trebuchet is the standard 5N model, the Hunchback, a 4G,” announced Mohammed Bey. “The Panther is the 9R.”
“Okay, so the boy knows his silhouettes,” growled Magnussen, “Don’t play the dilettante.”
“The Trebuchet carries only one ton of missile ammunition, the Panther just under a quarter ton,” reported the teen, “The Hunchback has a full load, two tons for his autocannon.”
“Impressive,” commented Anderssen in her usual monotone.
“Bah, he could have had one of his servants spying on our preparations,” dismissed the Lojtnant, “he’s a tricky one.”
“Heh,” Mohammed Bey chuckled, “Magnussen is powering up his particle cannon –the Hunchback has always been ready for combat.”
“Nobody is that fast or accurate with sensors,” said Magnussen, “he’s getting help from somebody.”
“That is enough, Lojtnant,” said the Friherre, “it is obvious that we have not given our partners in this venture a fair evaluation.”


1200 Hours

The Mongoose and the Jenner raced nimbly over the smooth dunes, their navigation equipment utilizing the Blood Ember as their primary beacon. Mohammed Bey located a radio transmitter on the continent, which allowed the maneuvering battlemechs reference points on the unfamiliar land.
While the five battlemechs patrolled the surrounding area, the technicians and other mech pilots assembled and tested the four Mining machines and four Harvesting quads.
“As`Zaman, Tanaka, return to base –we have company.”
“Acknowledged,” replied Mohammed Bey. He tapped the navigation screen and turned his mech to make a beeline toward the Blood Ember.
“I’m right behind you,” reported Leila, her Jenner following in column, “what’s up?”
“Sensor readings on two-seven-three point five,” said As`Zaman. His screen flickered and he magnified the line of approaching vehicles, “It’s most likely a local patrol.”
“Two-seven-three point five,” repeated Leila, “got it.” She looked out over the drifting sand, “They must be five klicks out.”

The two fast battlemechs joined the others and formed a line about a kilometer ahead of the dropship. Friherre Bödvar’s Hunchback stood fifty meters ahead of the other machines when the five-ton armored scoutcar and two land rovers arrived.
The Hunchback’s external loudspeaker blared, “May we help you?”
Mohammed Bey relaxed in his cockpit and only paid passing attention to the conversation between the Friherre and the constable. Satisfied that the planet was not under attack, the three vehicles returned to the town, about thirty miles up the coast.
“Did they really invite us to visit the town?” asked Leila, some excitement in her voice.
Mohammed Bey rolled his eyes, envisioning another shopping trip, “Yes they did.”

1430 Hours

As`Zaman scanned the distant horizon as he straddled his surfboard. The water was warm but he wore his wetsuit any way. The waves were small, easy to ride and boring. The young man stifled a yawn and looked over to where Tanaka lay on a mat, tanning her skin. He grinned as another group of technicians strolled down to the beach to catch a glimpse of the napping teen, whose bathing suit left little to the imagination. He waited for the next swell and paddled toward the shore, standing on his board for an almost casual ride to dry land.

The young man walked through the hissing foam and up onto the beach. The warm sand felt good under his feet, “Miss Tanaka,” he called softly as he stood looking her prone form. Her skin had tanned an impressive golden hue.
“Hmmmm…” she mumbled, half-asleep on her stomach. He noticed that she had undone the top of her bathing suit.
“I was thinking of taking a shower and heading over to Bondi before it gets dark,” he said, still unsure if she was listening.
“Uhmhmmmm…”
He sighed, “Leila, are you awake?” He tapped her shoulder with a finger and she squirmed slightly.
“I have a nice, big crab here,” he told her, “what if I put it on your back?
“I’ll kill you,” she muttered without stirring, “very slowly.”
Smiling, As`Zaman collected towel and draped it over a shoulder, “If we hurry, we could get in some shopping and maybe a nice dinner.” He headed toward the dropship.

“Master,” greeted Shakira with a bow, “I have prepared a meal for you and Miss Tanaka.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Shakira,” replied As`Zaman, “I’m going to shower and Miss Tanaka should be joining us shortly.” He thought for a moment, “Shakira, if you could do me a favor…”
“Yes, my Bey?”
“I would like you to see to Miss Tanaka as if you were her servant for the time being,” he said, “could you do that for me?”
The servant bowed, “Of course, my Bey.”
He nodded, “Very good, Shakira,” he stepped aside, “go tell Miss Tanaka that she’ll be joining us for a bite after she’s ready –remind her that it would be a good time to wear one of those expensive dresses I bought her the last time we went shopping.”


Bondi, 1700 Hours

Tanaka strode through the aisles of the clothing store as if she owned it. She wore a tight, richly embroidered, crimson silk cheongsam dress, slit almost to her hip. She wore her hair up, held in place with red silk ribbons and long, jeweled pins. In contrast to Leila’s flamboyant appearance, Shakira wore full purdah, the tradition full covering of a Berber woman, including a cloth mesh cover over her face.
“The materials are nice and light but the fashions are so passé!” declared Tanaka as she examined a rack of dresses, “I these would be fine if I were a secretary or some other office type…”
“G’day, may I help you?” asked a middle-aged gentleman. He wore a well-tailored suit and he looked at the women hopefully, “We may be a little behind Inner Sphere fashion but the local populace prefers that which is familiar.”
The teen smiled, “Ah, classical style, eh?” She looked over a display of jackets, “You have every shade of khaki and an eclectic variety of plaid.” She shrugged, “What do you have for an informal tea?”
The salesman bowed, “Please follow me, miss.”

“In addition to very high-quality industrial sand, we also have a fine choice of gravel,” said the wholesaler. He and As`Zaman walked through a huge warehouse between small mountains of sand.
“Actually,” said Mohammed Bey, “I am looking for trade materials, preferably finished goods, although my firm also deals in surplus and salvage.”
“Ah, sir, I see…” said the wholesaler, “Could I perchance interest you in just a little bit of sand?”
“No, I do not want any sand, thank you,” replied the teen.
“Are you certain? I could give you a very attractive deal…”
“Thank you, no,” said Mohammed Bey as he made for the exit, the seller on his heels.


1830 Hours

“He tried to sell sand to a Berber?” wondered Leila.
Mohammed Bey laughed, “I can’t believe it either, fortunately, I found another wholesaler who traded some textiles for coffee and food.” They sat in a small café and sipped tea.
“Food?” Tanaka asked, “What kind of food?”
“While you have gone shopping,” began As`Zaman, “my uncle and I have been trading tons of various commodities. Electronic components, the industrial mechs, preserved fish from Rasalhague, packaged fruit, no dropship travels with an empty hold. These people have a shortage of coffee, fruits and vegetables.”
“So, who’s buying the industrial mechs?” asked Tanaka.
“It has a lot to do with our guide,” said Mohammed Bey. He waved down a waiter, “More tea, please.” He smiled at her, “The Friherre is planning a feast this evening, so I had to order some of the local products.”
“And they are…?”
“Sheep,” replied the teen, “we feast on lamb tonight!”
Tanaka had planned on a night on the town but a beach party sounded far too attractive to turn down, “Ooh, I’ll be there!”


2000 Hours

The bonfire roared as the huge pile of logs and driftwood sent flickering ashes up into the starry night. The Friherre’s men had set up long tables on the hill overlooking the beach while the mess staff brought out trays heavily laden with food. Several large kegs poured foaming mead and beer into mug and horn.
Mohammed Bey satisfied his thirst with sweet mint tea. He kept an eye on Tanaka, who promised to “put on a good drunk.” Just in case, he warned Shakira to keep an eye on her as well.
“Could I get you some mead?” asked Sergeant Nykvist, he has started drinking early and was very cheerful.
As`Zaman bowed, “I have more than enough refreshments, sergeant,” he replied politely, “thank you.”
“Top me off, sarge,” said Leila, with a wink.
Nykvist hefted a mead-filled jug and soon Tanaka’s mug overflowed with bubbling mead.
“Tack så mycket!” said the young woman. She plopped down beside Mohammed Bey and drank.

As`Zaman performed a humble salaam, “A sumptuous feast, Friherre.”
“Thank you,” said the scarred veteran, with a nod, “It is better to celebrate out here than in the town.”
“Why is that, Friherre?” questioned Mohammed Bey.
“Periphery worlds are usually poor,” replied the commander, “if my people are in town, the authorities would eventually find reasons to detain them and demand outrageous fines for their release.”
The idea made the teen uneasy, “Would they really do that?”
“They know we have battlemechs,” said Ulfgar proudly, “we would level their town if they tried that sort of scam.”
The teen formed an image in his head of the Hunchback raining terror on the tiny seaside community, like Viking raiders, stealing tons and tons of quality, industrial sand.

“Still no taste for mead, Lord As`Zaman?” inquired Kapten Anderssen.
Mohammed Bey bowed, “My faith requires that I refrain from alcohol, Lady Kapten,” he smiled, “With such lovely company, I would never choose to dull my senses.”
“How poetic,” commented Anderssen, “you should be a skald, like Sergeant Lindholm.”
“I have witnessed his skill,” replied the young man, “he is quite impressive.”
“Come, young lord,” invited the Kapten, “your uncle told us that you are an accomplished poet and the night calls for poetry, don’t you agree?”
As`Zaman bowed, “How could anyone disagree with such a gracious invitation?” He turned to face the seated guests.

“The dropship is loaded, secure the bays;
It leaps to the sky, through misty veils,
Relaxed in our cabins over the days,
We approach the jumpship as it folds its sails.

With the docking collar locked firm in place,
We all are adrift, lighter than foam,
Sailing a course through the ocean of space,
So many light years on our journey home,

Our hearts leap when our home star is in sight,
Fusion engines push off with thunder’s roar,
Farewell to the ocean of endless night,
Until duty calls us to leave home once more,

Dropship engines sing thunder’s refrain,
To distant stars and home once again.”

The Azami youth bowed his head after the last line while those seated applauded or pounded the tables with mugs and fists. Mohammed Bey felt a hand pull his.
“Have a seat,” said Anderssen, “I see your uncle was not exaggerating about you.”
Sergeant Ingmar Lindholm stood up and bowed,

“A poet is always welcome; Amid hard-fighting warriors
He soothes away wounds; Too deep to be seen
He gives steel to hearts; On the eve before battle
He praises the fallen; So their memory lives on

The Lord of the Ravens; The first of the poets
Rist on the rune-staff; His eternal wisdom
Come to the table; Share song and story
Teach young and old; The tales of our people

From skald to skald; From feast hall to feast hall
Travel the sagas; Of Tyr’s far-flung children
Sword-storm and fire; The feasting of ravens
The skald tells the sagas; Our people live on.”

2230 Hours

Shakira and Ali escorted Leila to her room –if carrying counts as escort. As`Zaman followed at a short distance, just in case.
“I could make it on my own,” mumbled Tanaka, “really…”
“Of course, Mistress Leila,” replied Ali, “we are just here because our master insists.”
“Oh? Isn’t that sweet of him?” said the tipsy young woman, “could you tell him that?”
“As you wish, Mistress Leila,” responded Shakira. She opened the door to Tanaka’s room.

Satisfied that Tanaka was safe in her room, Mohammed Bey dismissed his servants and headed down the corridor to his stateroom.
“Hej,” Kapten Anderssen stood before him.
“Hej,” replied As`Zaman, “we just saw Miss Tanaka to her room.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Lord As`Zaman,” she commented, “You must be very close.”
“Oh, uh, we are good friends, Kapten,” answered Mohammed Bey, “we both graduated from the Sun Tzu Academy last year.”
“Yes,” said the officer, “the information your uncle provided seemed to be very thorough.”
“Lady Kapten,” inquired the teen, “may I ask the reason for this interview?”
Anderssen smiled and nodded, “You always look at me strangely, Lord As`Zaman,” she began, “is there a reason behind it or am I just imagining it?”
Mohammed Bey felt his face grow warm and he looked down, “You remind me of somebody, Lady Kapten.”
“Oh,” responded Anderssen, “a girlfriend perhaps?” She shook her head, “How sad.”
“No, it isn’t that,” he replied, carefully forming the words, “one of my teachers –somebody for whom I had much respect.” He sighed, “You must find this all very silly and I’m embarrassed about it.”
“Oh, no, not at all, Lord As`Zaman,” she replied, “most of the guys look at me for other reasons.” She smiled at him and he felt his face grow warm again –he had never seen her smile before.
“Lady Kapten,” said the teen, “you may call me Mohammed.”
“Alright Mohammed,” she replied, nodding, “please call me Britt.”
“Britt?” he asked, “I haven’t heard anyone call you by that name.”
The woman smiled again, “You may call me Britt when we are alone.” She looked at her watch, “It is late and the day has been long –Good night and rest well, Mohammed –thank you for the conversation.”
The teen bowed, “It was my pleasure, Britt –Good night.”

After Mohammed Bey entered his room, he collapsed onto his bunk and closed his eyes.

Kapten Anderssen entered her Spartan stateroom and tapped her communicator’s screen, “Friherre, this is Anderssen…Yes…It was easier than I thought…I think with the right kind of persuasion we might get him to join us… Yes…Thank you and good night sir.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Unnamed System, July 3, 3038 0230 Hours

The jumpship Tyrfing hovered millions of kilometers away from the brilliant white star, its massive recharge sail deployed. Secured to the Tyrfing, the Blood Ember served as an odd battleground as battlemechs stalked its outer hull. Mohammed Bey’s Mongoose crept in a low crouch; the electromagnetic sole adapters prevented his machine from floating off into space. Training to use the adapters was painstaking –activate both soles to stand, turn off a sole to take a step, activate the advancing foot and cut the electromagnet to step with the second foot. In the start, there were just hours of short, careful steps, like learning how to walk all over again but instead of a fall, a misstep could send a battlemech tumbling end over end into the frozen void.
The Azami teen smiled –normal sensors had difficulty with detecting targets around the dropship’s curved hull but when he halted his mech, the seismic sensors easily detected the slow tread of the heavier mechs cautiously moving over the egg-shaped surface. The Mongoose leaned forward; its mechanical hands deftly gripped structural protrusions, guiding its weightless bulk over the armored surface. His seismic sensors indicated a slowly approaching machine –the Panther. The Mongoose shifted its body to face the enemy, As`Zaman held his breath as his battlemech drifted behind a bulging turret. The waiting mech’s sensors screamed when the approaching Panther bathed the area with radiation, its own sensors active and seeking at full power. The Mongoose sat up, lasers firing. The teen growled as his shots missed. His mech’s shadow stretched over the dropship’s stark, white surface, As`Zaman knew his opponent had the brilliant white sun at his back and Magnussen would have difficulty aiming.
The Panther halted seconds after it detected the Mongoose, its arm-mounted PPC leveled, and its training laser firing wide as well.
Mohammed Bey eased his controls, trying to stay hidden from the sniping Panther, “The Panther’s full attention is toward number four turret, facing about thirty degrees off the centerline arc,” his eyes glanced at his sensor screen, “You should be just cresting the ship behind him.” He aimed his right arm laser at the Panther and fired, scoring a hit on the battlemech’s left shoulder. Magnussen’s Panther jerked suddenly and began to turn then suddenly shut down. As`Zaman breathed a sigh of relief, “Good shooting, Kapten!” He steered his Mongoose its feet and raised the right hand in salute, taking a few seconds to look over the jumpship’s starboard to glimpse at the distant Invader Class jumpship that carried the guide to the mission, a person only mentioned as “the Navigator.”

Ali Iften secured the Mongoose within its bay, tightening each restraining clamp with care. Mohammed Bey drifted down from the battlemech’s cockpit, in time to see Kapten Britt Anderssen approaching. He waved and waited for her to wave in return before assisting Ali in securing the machine.
“That was a remarkable move, Mohammed,” commented Anderssen, “ducking behind a turret and letting a Panther take shots at you takes a lot of nerve.”
The teen blushed, “I knew you were close,” he answered, “all I had to do was keep him busy until you struck him from behind.”
“It isn’t just that,” continued the officer, “I had no idea where anybody was –your ability to use your sensors is incredible. You were able to direct me into a perfect back shot.”
The teen reveled in the woman’s praise, “Thank you, Kapten, we seem to make very good partners.”
She took his hand, “Ali, could you continue on your own?” She saw the technician nod, “Come on, Mohammed,” she pulled him toward the exit, “I want to see the Friherre’s face during the debriefing.”

Briefing Room, 0345 Hours

Friherre Bödvar watched the battle recordings from the aspect of each of the participating machines, his scarred face impassive. Lojtnant Magnussen brooded in silence –Anderssen had suggested that he and Tanaka work as a team for a change while she and Mohammed formed the opposing team. Magnussen didn’t like losing and he knew that his refusal to coordinate with Tanaka played a large part of the loss. Once his Panther was taken down, hunting down the Jenner was just a matter of time.
The Overste nodded and shut off the holovid player, “Very interesting, Kapten, and this is the very first time you trained with Mohammed Bey?”
“I must admit, Overste,” she replied, “Lord As`Zaman insisted that we run simulated team exercises on his computer –he is quite the trainer.” She looked over to the teen and noted, with some satisfaction, the glare Leila offered her.
“Ha! When I was a child I could pull a few clever tricks as well,” snapped Magnussen with a contemptuous sneer.
“What a pity,” retorted As`Zaman, “that I couldn’t face you when you were clever.”
The Lojtnant leaped to his feet, fists balled, the veins on his forehead pulsing and ready to burst, “Do you mock me?”
The teen laughed, “You give me too much credit –it takes many years to make so great a fool.” A hand shot out and grasped the collar of the teen’s cooling vest.
“Lojtnant!” barked the Friherre, “Go to your quarters and think upon your training today –that is an order.”
Magnussen released the youth and dropped his arm, “Yes sir.” He turned on his heel and departed without another word.
“My apologies, Lord As`Zaman,” offered the senior officer, “Magnussen is actually a good and loyal officer…”
Mohammed Bey held a hand up, “No need to apologize, sir. The Lojtnant’s record speaks for itself, I cannot detract from it.” He shrugged, “I should not have provoked him and I apologize, sir.”
“Perhaps there would be less friction,” inserted Kapten Anderssen, “if the Friherre would give these two honorary ranks.”
Overste Ulfgar nodded, “That is a reasonable idea, Kapten, what would you suggest? I could make them both sergeants.”
The woman’s face was as impassive as ever, “I suggest Kapten for Lord As`Zaman and Lojtnant for Miss Tanaka.”
The Friherre pondered the matter for a few seconds, “Very well, I shall send out copies of the orders this morning.” He tapped the keyboard in front of him, “Congratulations, Kapten As`Zaman, Lojtnant Tanaka, I know I will not regret this decision.”
Tanaka rose from her seat and bowed, “Thank you, Friherre, for your faith in us.”
“Thank you, Overste,” said Mohammed Bey, also bowing, “and thank you Kapten.”


“I can’t believe you let Anderssen fawn on you like that,” scolded Tanaka, “I don’t trust her.”
“What are you talking about?” responded As`Zaman, “The Kapten was being modest –after all, she did most of the real fighting.”
“And the way you picked a fight with Magnussen,” Leila continued, “you only did that to impress her.”
“That’s just crazy,” said Mohammed Bey, suddenly becoming irritated, “that ass was asking for it. Anyway, what are you getting jealous over? It isn’t like I’m going to forget that I’m getting married when I return home.”
“I am not jealous!” she shouted.
Mohammed Bey had never seen her this angry before and decided not to push her any further, “Alright, alright,” he said in a conciliatory voice, “I shall be wary of Anderssen’s intentions, whatever they may be. Thank you for your concern, Leila –I mean Lojtnant Tanaka.” He bowed slightly.
Caught by surprise by As`Zaman’s apparent change of heart on the matter, Tanaka was pacified, “Oh, well,” she replied, just before ducking into her room, “I just don’t want to see you taken advantage of.”
Mohammed Bey shook his head after the door slid shut and launched himself down the corridor toward his room.

0630 Hours

As`Zaman opened one eye and tried to read the blurry red digital time readout across the room. Sure enough, there was somebody tapping at his door. His head still filled with the thick cotton of sleep, he fumbled at the restraints that held him inside his padded bunk and slapped the light switch as he floated free. Since a robe didn’t work properly in zero gravity, he slipped on a pair of loose, duty trousers and pulled on a pair of exercise shoes. “As`Zaman,” he announced over the intercom, “may I help you?”
“Please forgive me for waking you,” said the whispering voice, “this is Britt.” Kapten Anderssen waited outside his room.
The door slid open, “Kapten, please come in,” said the teen, “what may I do for you?”
The officer appeared worried, “I have come to warn you to stay clear of Lojtnant Magnussen –He has an extreme dislike for you and may be looking for any opportunity to pick a fight.”
“I’m not afraid of him, Britt,” replied the youth, “if he wants a fight, I’ll teach him a lesson that he’ll never forget.”
The woman smiled, “I’m certain you could,” she suddenly threw her arms around him, “but I am very afraid for you, Mohammed –Wilfrid is a seasoned veteran and the Friherre’s cousin.”
Mohammed Bey returned the hug despite feeling uncomfortable, “Don’t worry about me, Britt,” he said, “I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble if it makes you feel better.”
She gently kissed his cheek, “That will make me sleep easier, my Bey,” she whispered, “I hope we are allowed to train together more often.”
The teen felt his heart pounding, “Yes, as do I, Britt, I would like that.”
“That music playing,” commented Anderssen, “would that be Mozart?”
As`Zaman nodded, “Yes, Idomeneo.”
“I’m not familiar with that opera,” replied the older woman, “I guess it wasn’t as popular as Trollflöten.”
“Is that how you say ‘The Magic Flute’ in Swedish?” asked Mohammed Bey, he touched his computer’s screen and the overture began to play.
“Yes, my parents loved Mozart and Beethoven,” she told him, her voice soft and wistful, “I used to sing in a choir but I always wanted to sing the arias.”
“You should sing,” said As`Zaman, suddenly animated, “Sergeant Lindholm is a Skald and his Eddic poetry is wonderful to listen to but I know you’d be received just as well.”
“I don’t know,” she said, “I would be too shy.”
“Why don’t we try an easy duet?” suggested the teen, “I’m not tired, let me display the words –How is your German?”
“Passable, I picked some up while training with the Lyrans,” she replied, “I’m willing to try anything.”
“Anything?” Mohammed Bey touched the display, “You don’t old enough to have fought in the last Succession War.”
Anderssen’s face turned somber once more, “My father and brother fought in the Tyr Regiment –father died fighting in Kirchbach,” she told him, “My brother captured the Trebuchet that I now pilot –he fell during the Ronin War.”
“I am very sorry, Britt,” he whispered.
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, “It’s alright, when you become a warrior you have to accept losses.”


Yet Another Unnamed System, July 20, 3038 0930 Hours

Mohammed Bey sat in the cockpit of his Mongoose, busily monitoring a series of diagnostic programs for the battlemech’s various systems, “Ali, everything looks good so far.”
“Yes, my Bey,” replied the young technician, “all tests appear positive.” He took a moment to look up from his display screen and keyed his microphone, “My Bey, it looks like the Navigator is touring the battlemech bays.”
The young mechwarrior glanced through the Mongoose’s cockpit windows but could not see along the walkway. He unbuckled his harness and pulled himself partway through the machine’s open hatch. Across the vast, brightly lit deck, he could make out the Overste and his entourage as they casually glided along the walkway. “I can’t tell him from the other Rasalhaguers.”
“Master,” answered Ali, “I have been told that he carries a large pistol instead of a sword.”
“I can’t tell from this distance,” responded As`Zaman. He noticed that somebody waved to him and he grinned –Kapten Anderssen floated along the catwalk above the mech bays. The teen waved back. The Kapten swung down to her Trebuchet and talked to her technicians.
“The diagnostics are all completed, my Bey,” announced the young tech, “The Friherre’s party is coming this way –do you wish me to stand by?”
“No, you may go, Ali,” replied Mohammed Bey, “Unless you want to see the Navigator, I’ll see you in the mess.”
“Ah, I’m in no hurry to see him, Master,” said Ali, “I shall see you in the mess.”

As`Zaman unplugged his neural helm and floated down along the scaffolding to the deck, he could see Overste Ulfgar, Lojtnant Magnussen, Sergeant Nykvist, Sergeant Lindholm and the Navigator, Tryggvi Hrafn, riding a ten-ton utility crawler. They stopped in front of Anderssen’s Trebuchet for a moment before continuing along the curved track. When the utility crawler drew up to the bay containing the Mongoose, As`Zaman executed a deep salaam.
“Good morning, Kapten As`Zaman,” greeted the Overste, “while our jumpships recharge, we are giving Master Navigator Hrafn a tour of our facilities.”
“Welcome aboard, Master Navigator,” said the teen with a bow, “allow me to commend you on your ability. I have also heard that your engineers have cut our travel time significantly.”
The Master Navigator, a man in his mid 30’s, smiled and nodded politely at the praise, “Thank you, Kapten,” he returned, “the Friherre has informed me of your skill as well –all the more remarkable for such a young man.” He did dress like the men from Rasalhague –perhaps a little more rustically, his clothes more for comfort than for fashion and slightly less ornate, the exception being the large caliber pistol low on his hip. From what he could see, the weapon was bulky and long-barreled with an intricately engraved wooden grip.
Mohammed Bey bowed humbly, “Overste Ulfgar is overly generous, I am sure.”
“Our young Kapten is modest,” said Hrafn, “I have been directed to you for the purchase of the industrial machines you have on the lower deck –perhaps we could meet later to discuss our business.”
“I look forward to that meeting, Master Navigator Hrafn,” As`Zaman said, “I am at your disposal.”
The touring group bade the young mechpilot farewell and were about to continue on their inspection when they heard a clear soprano voice singing:
“Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen,
Fehlt auch ein gutes Herze nicht.”
It was Kapten Anderssen, who stood above the group from the catwalk. Mohammed Bey recognized the duet they had been rehearsing and sang the next stanza:
“Die süßen Triebe mitzufühlen
Ist dann der Weiber erster Pflicht.”
They continued together:
“Wir wollen uns der Liebe freun
Wir leben durch die Lieb allein,
Wir leben durch die Lieb allein,”
The party on the crawler sat rapt in awe at the impromptu performance. Anderssen continued in Swedish:
“Av kärlek lindras alla plågor
Och kärlek genomtränger allt.”
She floated down to the deck while As`Zaman sang:
“Naturen fylls av kärlekslågor
I kärlek tar allt liv gestalt.”
Anderssen took Mohammed Bey’s hand as they finished the duet:
“På kärlek kommer allting an
Gudomens verk är kvinna och man
Gudomens verk är hon och han
Han och hon och hon och han
Himlen drar dem till varann.
Mann und Weib, und Weib und Mann,
Reichen an die Gottheit an.”
The two bowed to the applause of the men in the crawler as well as numerous technicians who set aside their tools to listen to the singing. As`Zaman noted the scowl on Lojtnant Magnussen’s face and he knew it wasn’t because of a severe dislike of Mozart’s music.
“Friherre Bödvar,” said Hrafn, “I have enjoyed the verses of your skald but you have been keeping this treasure from me.”
The Overste’s eyes darted from Mohammed Bey to Kapten Anderssen, “Master Navigator, I am just as surprised.” He looked at the teen, “Kapten, I have underestimated you.”


1200 Hours

Ali took a sip of his mint tea, “I’m sorry I missed your performance, master.”
“It was nothing, really,” shrugged As`Zaman.
“That isn’t what I’ve heard,” whispered Ali, “the techs have told me that Kapten Anderssen has never done anything but pilot her battlemech and lead a lance –from what I’ve heard, she rarely says anything to anyone but her fellow mechwarriors.”
“Really?” mused Mohammed Bey, “that is very odd, the Kapten seems normal enough when I talk to her.”
The technician scratched his head, “Maybe she’s one of those who just behaves differently depending on who she’s with.”
As`Zaman saw Tanaka approaching and quickly changed the subject, “That Master Navigator is an interesting fellow –you should have stuck around.”
Ali was about to answer when Tanaka arrived at their table, “Good day, Mistress,” he said, rising to his feet to bow along with Mohammed Bey.
“Hello Ali, Kapten As`Zaman,” she replied before locking her tray in place on their table, “I hear it’s been a busy day.”
As`Zaman and Ali looked at each other then Mohammed Bey spoke, “Yes, it has been a little hectic –we will be arriving at our destination within a week and there is a lot do.” He tapped his compad, “I’ll be meeting with Master Navigator Hrafn this afternoon to iron out the final price of the equipment he’ll be purchasing as well as other details of this trade mission.”
“Do you mind if I attend this meeting?” asked Leila, her interest piqued.
“I have no problem with you being present,” replied Mohammed Bey, “it will save me having to brief you later on.”


Midgard, July 28, 3038, 2215 Hours

“I can’t believe how close to the planet they managed to get us,” commented Tanaka, “Hrafn must know this system very well.”
“I have no doubt about that,” agreed Mohammed Bey, “I’ve jumped to pirate points when on Azami trade jumpships before but the Master Navigator is a true artist.” He glanced at the clock, “Overste Ulfgar shall be giving us the full briefing in a few minutes –do you want to view it in the mess or the recreation room?”
“I want some tea anyway,” replied Leila, “let’s go to the mess before it gets too crowded.”

Overste Friherre Bödvar Ulfgar stood at a podium in front of a large screen that displayed the star system that they had just entered. Instead of the civilian clothes he had worn over the past months, the Overste wore a uniform but not the uniform of a Rasalhague soldier. As`Zaman could only guess that the veteran wore the uniform of his own private retinue. After looking about the mess, he noted that the mechpilots and technicians wore similar uniforms.
“Good evening,” began the Friherre, “as you already are aware, we have finally arrived at our destination, a system our Master Navigator calls Midgard, almost seven hundred light years from Rasalhague.” The image of the star system took up all of the screen as the Overste continued the narration, “We are currently at a pirate point about fifty hours’ travel from the system’s fourth planet. The planet surface is eighty percent water or ice and the overall climate is low temperate. The atmosphere is slightly dense but breathable without equipment.” The image changed to a close-up of the planet and its equatorial area. “There are a scattering of settlements on Midgard, fairly primitive, perhaps as many as five thousand inhabitants in all. The main product of these settlements is hardy varieties of grain crops –wheat, rye, oats, and barley.”
The Friherre’s image took up the screen, “Kapten As`Zaman’s company, Kahman Mercantile, has provided harvestmechs to facilitate the gathering of what has been reported to be a record crop.” His face became grim, “When Midgard’s harvest season ends, there is a critical period of a couple of weeks when merchants come in to trade –occasionally, pirates choose this time to raid as well.”
“The first stage of this mission includes assisting in the harvest and guarding the main settlement –for that, we have four seventy-five ton harvest quads. The second portion of our mission is also the result of our partnership with Kahman Mercantile –a reliable source has reported that Midgard has a sizable Star League cache hidden in the equatorial region.” That last announcement caused quite a stir among the listeners –there had been a lot of rumors concerning the mission, finally this was confirmation.
“Each of the sections will receive their orders within the hour –We shall be detaching from the Tyrfing and burning in as soon as possible.” Friherre Bödvar snapped to attention, “You are dismissed.”

“It’s about time,” commented Mohammed Bey.
“I agree,” said Tanaka, “I just want to get on the ground and get this mission over with.”

Midgard, August 1, 3038, 0900 Hours

Sergeant Ingve Nykvist revved the engine of his Klein Manufacturing Industrial Harvesting Quad and steered it toward the sheltered valley twenty kilometers away, “We have over five hundred square kilometers in a dozen valleys to mow with these machines.”
“Easy work,” replied Sergeant Nils Amnegard, “these machines will easily collect thirty tons of grain in an hour –just make certain the haulers keep up with us.”
Sergeant Torkel Torkelson checked the status of his twin heavy machineguns, “Let the pirates come –I’m not here to be a damn farmer.” His quad pounded toward the valley with grim purpose.
“The Overste said they raise barley here,” commented Sergeant Bjorn Svanberg, “you know what that means.”
“Beer!” the men chorused over the radio.
Friherre Bödvar chuckled as his Hunchback joined the formation, “I have been assured that there will be sufficient hot food and cold refreshments for all of us.”
Mohammed Bey smiled, listening to the cheerful lapses in radio discipline –they had been traveling for months and now they would be planetside for a few weeks. He set his Mongoose on autonavigation while he flipped through the display of planetary information that Master Navigator Hrafn gave him. It wasn’t like tapping into a tourist bureau frequency but the information was useful.
“Kapten As`Zaman, this is Overste Ulfgar.”
As`Zaman keyed his communicator, “Sir, Kapten As`Zaman.”
“Kapten, I want you to begin scanning as soon as possible,” said the Friherre, “use the link to the Tyrfing to aid in your mapping.”
“Yes, sir!” the teen tapped his scanner display and entered to code to activate the Mongoose’s active probe. Once his link to the jumpship was established, Mohammed Bey casually monitored the active probe’s display screen a the convoy made its trek into the wide valley.


Sich Novo Zaporozhye, 1000 Hours

“For a moment,” said As`Zaman, “I thought we were approaching a village with minaret towers,” He took a sip of the cold kvass one of the settlers handed to him, “but then I saw the crosses.” The teen sat with Leila as they took a short break. He looked over the expanse of golden wheat, waving at the wind’s touch like a huge, yellow sea. The combine quads with their haulers in tow spun their triple sets of blades and began the harvest. A half-dozen smaller, primitive combines belched dark exhaust as they attacked the smaller fields.
“It says here that a square kilometer can produce up to three hundred tons of grain,” said Tanaka, she took a bite of dark, buttered rye bread and turned the page from the briefing handout, “There are a dozen valleys?”
“Yes, a dozen,” said Mohammed Bey, “Hrafn said that in a week, up to a dozen jumpships will arrive from all parts of the deep Periphery to trade for the grain and other products.”
“Speaking about other products,” said Leila, “how is the kvass?”
“It isn’t tea,” replied As`Zaman with a shrug, “but it is refreshing.” He finished off his sliced beef sandwich and rinsed his utensils off under his canteen, “I’ve got some scanning to do.”
“I’ll go relieve Magnussen, then,” said Tanaka, “There shouldn’t be much to worry about, though.”
“You never know with pirates,” commented Mohammed Bey as he dried his hands, “but the next three weeks will keep us all on our toes.” He saw a small group of settlers approaching, “More people wanting to trade, carrying jugs and loaves of bread.”
“I’ll wave them off,” said Leila, “one cup of horilka is enough.”
“Tell them I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” As`Zaman told her, “I want to rent one of their horses while I’m here.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Seville Valley, Midgard, August 5, 3038, Midday

“Vous êtes amoureux. Loué jusqu'au mois d'août.
Vous êtes amoureux. - Vos sonnets La font rire.
Tous vos amis s'en vont, vous êtes mauvais goût.
- Puis l'adorée, un soir, a daigné vous écrire !...

- Ce soir-là,... - vous rentrez aux cafés éclatants,
Vous demandez des bocks ou de la limonade...
- On n'est pas sérieux, quand on a dix-sept ans
Et qu'on a des tilleuls verts sur la promenade.”
Mohammed Bey leaned back on the firm cushions and closed the small book of poetry. He closed his eyes and listened to the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.
“That sounded very nice,” mused Kapten Anderssen, “like spoken music –it’s a pity that I can’t understand it.” She rested her head upon his lap and gazed out over the grassy field where a pair of saddled horses grazed.
“This was one of my tutor’s favorites –Arthur Rimbaud,” said As`Zaman, “I can’t believe I found this ancient book in the marketplace here.”
“Do you ever regret your decision at becoming a mechwarrior?” she asked.
The teen opened his eyes and ran a hand over her shoulder, “What is there to regret?” he asked in return, “I would not have met you were I not here as a pilot.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” she said, turning to look up at him, “I never intended to take over after my father and brothers were killed.”
Mohammed Bey looked into her icy blue eyes, “How did you learn to pilot your Trebuchet?” he asked, “Don’t tell me your brothers just taught you everything you needed to know to be a pilot.”
“Not at all,” she laughed, “I had to attend classes as well but at the Friherre’s school, not a fancy academy.” She sat up and adjusted her long, golden braid, “You didn’t answer my first question.”
As`Zaman thought for moment, “What would I do instead of piloting a battlemech?” He shrugged, “That is a difficult question because my clan has traditionally provided soldiers and leaders for my people.” He smiled at her, “Of course, when my father retires, I would be responsible for the family holdings on Dabih, which includes a number of businesses.”
Anderssen’s eyes lit up, “Oh? What kind of businesses?”
The young man chuckled and shook his head, “It isn’t very exciting, really,” he set his book down, “The primary holdings are several hotels, casinos and restaurants in Barheilabad as well as controlling interests in Dabih’s petrochemical industry.”
The kapten looked at him, “Then you don’t have to be here at all.”
“Of course I do, Britt,” he replied, “Ahmed Kahman is my uncle and I am his agent here, doing business in his stead.” He took her hand, “I am hoping we don’t run into any trouble but this is part of my training as well.” He kissed her hand, “Well, not this –we’re taking a much-needed break.” He stood up and pointed to the two battlemechs standing near a collection of barns and grain silos, “That Mongoose, passed down through the generations –That treasured machine will be my mount until I pass it on to my son.”
“You have a son?” asked Anderssen, confused.
Mohammed Bey thought about Deirdre Benhaddad for a moment and blushed, “A son? Oh, no!” he laughed, “That is, when I have a son, of course.”
Britt shook her head, laughing, “I’m sorry.” She stood up and brushed off her jodhpurs, “So you plan to have a family…”
The teen nodded, “I should have told you earlier,” he looked away, “among my people many marriages are arranged beforehand.” He turned to her, “My parents have already engaged me to marry two women of the Azami.”
As he expected, there was a look of surprise on her face, “Two? You’re going to have two wives?” Something seemed to be bothering her.
“Well, yes,” he offered, “so far only two have signed contracts –I could have four or more.”
“Four!” she repeated, her voice rising slightly, “Why would you have four wives?”
Mohammed Bey shrugged, “I have often wondered about that –one wife is difficult enough.” He spread his hands, “I wonder how my father puts up with four.”
Anderssen suddenly gave him that look –the kind of look a woman has when rational discussion has ended. “Kapten As`Zaman,” she started, in her usual, businesslike tone, “I shall be tending to my Trebuchet.”
The teen stood under the shade tree and watched Anderssen climb into the saddle of the horse he had picked out for her. She looked back at him and gave a sort of toss of her head as she spurred her mount and trotted away. “Was it something I said?”

1500 Hours

A convoy of cargo vehicles drove past the waiting Mongoose. “One hundred and twenty tons of wheat,” Mohammed Bey said to himself as he added the total to his list, “I’ll be glad when the last dropship gets loaded up and departs.”
“Kapten As`Zaman, this is Overste Ulfgar.”
The teen keyed his microphone, “As`Zaman –go ahead.” He set his compad on standby.
Friherre Bödvar transmitted, “Continue your patrol, Kapten, there shall be a convoy from Saint Andrew’s Plantation, five vehicles, seventy-five tons of tobacco.”
“Acknowledged,” responded As`Zaman, he set his speed and picked out his path of travel on his navigational display, “I shall be there in two-zero minutes.” He grinned as his seat changed to running position and his Mongoose sprinted over the plains to where the dropships loaded.

1600 Hours

“So, what are you doing for dinner?” asked Tanaka, she leaned from her Jenner’s cockpit, the fasteners to her cooling vest undone to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. “I’ve been asking around and so far there’s an inn at the Leng Collective that serves good meals.”
“Leng Collective?” pondered Mohammed Bey. He pulled up a display of the settlement’s products, “Long-grain rice, ducks, chickens, and pork, hmmmm that isn’t halal.”
“I’ll tell them to hold the pork, alright?” bargained Leila.
As`Zaman gave her a thumb’s up, “That sounds good.”

Leng Collective, 1830 Hours

Packed with customers as usual, the Golden Phoenix Inn seated nearly two hundred guests. Leila Tanaka and Mohammed Bey got special treatment –their own table in a cramped corner while busy waiters with platter-laden trays shouldered their way through the narrow walkways between the crowded tables.
“I’ll start with a bowl of hot sour soup,” said Leila, “then beef tomato and garlic chicken.”
Mohammed Bey handed his menu to the waiter, “Won ton mein, Mongolian beef, chicken fried rice, steamed trout and a pot of tea.” The waiter bowed and scurried to the kitchen.
“I’m starved!” declared Tanaka; “I shouldn’t have just had a small bowl of soup for lunch.” She leaned over the table, “Have you found anything yet?”
As`Zaman looked around before he answered –the restaurant was far too noisy for anyone to be listening in. “Nothing –although I’ve only finished searching one valley and have barely started the second.”
“Do you think we’re wasting our time?” Leila asked.
“Well,” responded As`Zaman thoughtfully, “I was able to get far into the valley –enough to cancel out any theory of a Castle Brian along the continental spine.”
“What’s your theory?” asked Tanaka, “Do you think your uncle got bad information?”
The teen shook his head, “The information was good,” he paused as the waiter placed their orders of soup on the table and poured their tea, “Sheshe.” After the waiter left he continued, “We would not be here due to a rumor.” He tasted his soup, “This isn’t bad.” He looked up at Leila, “I’ll just have to keep looking.”
“What kind of search pattern are you employing?” Tanaka asked him.
As`Zaman stirred some mustard into his soup, “Well, to avoid raising suspicion, I am first using my active probe and scanners while moving along the most traveled paths,” he continued, “the first indication of a cache would be large amounts of metal underground.” He used his chopsticks to pick up a won ton, “So far I’ve located a couple of storage tanks but that proves that I could find what we’re looking for.” He took a bite of the dumpling, “That new blouse you are wearing –I’ve just noticed,” he sat up, “Where did you get it?”
“Do you like it?” said Tanaka, “it’s real silk –they make clothes here in this valley. I bought it in the plaza market.” She turned and smoothed the material, “How does it look now?”
Mohammed Bey smiled, “Who could resist your profile, Leila?” He fell silent in thought and put up his hand when Tanaka was about to reply. “You said the plaza market?” Here in the Collective?”
“Yes, the market sold all sorts of products,” answered the young woman, “I don’t see…”
As`Zaman pulled the leather bound book from his pocket, “I found this at the Seville Valley open market.” He handed it to her.
Leila thumbed through the pages, “I can’t read it, too bad.”
“You don’t understand,” he told her, “that book is almost three hundred years old yet it is in incredibly good condition.”
She took some time to read the contents, “Quebec, twenty-seven twelve!” Tanaka looked at him, “Do you think this book might have been in the cache?”
Mohammed Bey shrugged, “If our contact knew about the cache, others may know about it as well –taking the items easy to remove and sell until they could move what’s there.”
“What’s there other than poetry books?” asked Leila.
“Your average Star League cache would be any manner of supplies left behind by the SLDF for later use and recovery,” replied the teen, “they are found all over the Inner Sphere and contain everything from rations to spare parts and tools to complete battlemechs.”
“And if your guess is correct,” added Leila, “whoever knows the location may be selling bits of it on the local market.”


Blood Ember, August 6, 3038, 0630 Hours

Friherre Bödvar stood at a podium and addressed his entire crew, “In the light of new information regarding our primary goal here, I want every crew member who has purchased anything from local merchants to contact Kapten As`Zaman and cooperate with him and his technician –I have granted Kapten As`Zaman my authority on this investigation.”

1400 Hours

Ali Iften finished cataloguing the last of the items he and Mohammed Bey inspected, “That is all of them, Master.” He enlarged the holographic display, “Of eleven hundred and seventy-two items, seven hundred thirty-eight were either recently manufactured or perishables that did not meet the criteria.”
“Continue,” said As`Zaman, “get to the meat.”
The servant bowed, “Of course, Master,” he skipped over the other lists of eliminated items, “Here we have ninety-five possible Star League grade items –those which are highlighted have verified League Stock Numbers, in compliance with Star League supply and accounting protocols.”
Mohammed Bey smiled and nodded, “That is what I thought,” he checked his own notes, “My own list of those items included twenty-one hand tools, three powered tools, five hand meters, one refurbished heat sink…”
“After eliminating the items of obvious aged or used condition,” announced Ali, “it appears that five of the items are practically brand new –that is, recently taken from storage or slightly used before being sold.”
As`Zaman changed the display to show the map of the continental spine, “One of the tools was bought in Seville but we know that wasn’t the source.” He indicated Saint Andrew’s Plantation, “One pair of the tools was bought here and this area is yet to be searched.”
“With the other findings,” concluded Ali, “somebody from Saint Andrew’s Plantation, North Farm, Leng Collective or Tay Khang Valley is selling these items.”
“I don’t believe anyone from Saint Andrew’s would sell tools at their own markets,” said As`Zaman, “but we should take some time to find out where and how these things turn up.”

Tay Khang Valley, August 7, 3038, 0800 Hours

Gray clouds swept over the snow-covered mountain peaks and hung threateningly over the wide valley. A lone figure bundled in patched wool clothes walked along the trail, cap pulled tight, an oversized, threadbare coat pulled over thin shoulders that bent under the weight of an old, nondescript knapsack.
The traveler heard the muffled approach of horses’ hooves and moved to one side of the path.
“Good morning,” said Sergeant Lindholm, “would you know how much further to Tay Khang?” He reined in his horse, a muscular chestnut Frederiksborg, and leaned forward over its neatly trimmed mane.
The short wanderer looked up at the riders, eyes coming to a rest on the rider’s sword hanging from his hip, “The outlying farms are about two kilometers from here but if you are looking for the main trading post, that would be seventeen, sir.”
Lindholm sat back in his saddle, slightly surprised. He had not expected a young girl to answer his question. “Ah,” he replied, “would you be heading for Tay Khang as well?”
“Yes, sir,” came the soft, polite answer.
The rider turned to his companion, “Kapten As`Zaman, I suggest we offer this young one a ride to her destination.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “Of course, Sergeant.” He spurred his Turanian pony forward a few paces, “I am Kapten Mohammed As`Zaman Bey,” he said, bowing in his saddle, “and this is Sergeant Ingmar Lindholm.” He paused as the sergeant bowed, “What is your name, young miss?” The gray clouds parted and the sun’s rays struck the younger rider’s horse. Under the gray sky the horse appeared muddy yellow but as a long rent in the clouds opened, the horse’s hair gleamed like burnished gold, almost aglow with warm metallic fire. The pony shook its long, flowing mane and blinked.
The child’s pale blue eyes grew wide and she gave a shy wave, “My name is Nikki.”
“Milady Nikki, would you accept a ride from the sergeant or myself?” offered the teen, “It will save you a long walk.”
The girl stretched out a hand, “May I touch him?”
As`Zaman swung a leg over his saddle and dismounted, “Yes, Milady Nikki,” he answered, “Kaighul is very gentle.” He let her pet the pony’s nose and cheek. He smiled up at Ingmar, “I told you the weather would clear, sergeant.”

The pair of horses advanced at a comfortable walk, Nikki rode behind the teen officer, her small arms around his waist. She had never ridden a horse before and the two strangers were very friendly, singing as they rode along.
“So, Nikki,” began Mohammed Bey, “do you live here in the valley?”
The girl shook her head, “Not this valley.” She looked around as if trying to get her bearings and pointed, “That way.”
The riders moved to on side of the worn path to allow a produce-filled cargo vehicle to pass. The Asian driver smiled and waved back as his old, hydrogen-powered carrier trundled along the hard ground.
“Lettuce?” wondered the sergeant.
“Chinese cabbage,” replied As`Zaman, “it tastes good in soup.”
“I like soup,” said Nikki, her voice soft with a hint of sad resignation.
Mohammed Bey opened the flap of his magazine pouch, pulled out a candy bar and stripped some of the wrapper away, “Here Nikki, try this,” he broke off a small rectangle and held it out to her, “it will give you some energy.”
The girl took the bit of candy and looked at it, “What is it?”
“What is it?” echoed Ingmar, “Why, girl, it’s chocolate!”
The teen bit off a piece, “Try it, Nikki.”
“Choklit?” she said. The child nibbled at the small rectangle, “Good!”

0930 Hours

“Here would be fine,” said Nikki, she gently tapped Mohammed Bey’s shoulder.
Sergeant Lindholm dismounted and helped the girl to the ground.
“Thank you, Mohammed! Thank you, Ingmar!” called Nikki as she trotted off to the trading area.
“Take care!” said Linholm with a wave. He grinned and pulled his horse along.
“See you later, Nikki!” saluted As`Zaman. He looked around for a moment and could see dozens of merchant tables and hundreds of people shopping, “Sergeant, this may take a while.”

1300 Hours

Ingmar sat at a café table and savored a cold brew. He closed his eyes and tried to forget the last hours of fruitless search.
Mohammed Bey plopped himself down in a seat next to the veteran, “I see you’ve had better luck than I have.”
“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack, sir,” replied Lindholm, “and I’m exhausted.”
The teen waved down a waiter, “Chai, please!” He shook his head, “We have two more settlements to investigate.” The waiter placed a ceramic cup on the table and filled it with steaming green tea.
The teen pulled a silver trade coin from his pocket but the waiter waved the payment off, “No charge.” He bowed and returned to the kitchen.
“Wow, these people really appreciate mechwarriors,” commented Mohammed Bey. He placed his hands around the cup to warm them.
Lindholm dipped his head in agreement; “The pirate threat is very real here, not like in most areas in the Inner Sphere where soldiers are considered a nuisance by fat and complacent citizens.”


1500 Hours

“We have to hurry if we want to get back before dark,” warned Sergeant Lindholm, “you know how fast the temperature drops.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “I have to get some rest before my next shift so I don’t mind pushing it a little.” He tapped his mount’s flank with his whip, “Hut!” and the pony leaped forward in a fast trot.
Ingmar spurred his horse, laughing heartily as he chased the youth.

The riders approached a familiar sight –a small figure cloaked in cast-off, ill-fitting clothes. She heard the horses’ hooves pounding on the hard, dry ground and turned to wave.
“How far do you have to go, Nikki?” asked Lindholm as he bowed in his saddle.
“Oh, ummm…” she calculated the distance in her head, “just under twenty-five kilometers, sir.”
The two men looked at each other. “It will be dark before you get there,” said Mohammed Bey, “won’t your parents be worried?”
The girls shook her head, “I do not have parents, sir.”
Again the two men looked at each other. “Who takes care of you, Nikki?” asked Ingmar, his face etched with concern, “Where do you live?”
The little girl shrugged, “Nobody…” she told them. “I live in North Farm.”
“There’s no way you’re going to make North Farm before dark,” said As`Zaman, “The temperature will be below freezing by then.”
“I agree, Kapten,” declared the sergeant. He climbed from his saddle, “Nikki, would you like to come home with us?” He held out his hand, “We’ll have plenty of hot food and a warm bed for you.”
“Home?” she looked puzzled, as if the term was unfamiliar.
“Well, we have a couple of rooms at the Golden Phoenix Inn,” explained Mohammed Bey, “we have more than enough room for one more.”
“Golden Phoenix? Hot soup!” exclaimed the child, “Yes… and choklit?”
The men smiled and Ingmar helped her onto Kaighul’s back, “Yes, Nikki, hot soup and chocolate!”


Golden Phoenix Inn, Leng Collective, 1900 Hours

Mohammed Bey leaned over his large, steaming bowl of won ton mein and lifted some noodles from the broth with his chopsticks; he paused while Nikki used her chopsticks to do the same. “The noodles are very hot so you should blow on them,” he instructed. He blew on his noodles before stuffing them into his mouth, using his chopsticks to grasp any stray noodles and guide them. The child did her best to copy him.
Ingmar chuckled as he attacked his own plate of roasted duck slices with knife and fork.
“Is this seat free?” Tanaka asked, she waved for a waiter, “and who is this?”
As`Zaman stood up, “Lojtnant Tanaka, this is Nikki,” he motioned to the girl, “Nikki, this is Lojtnant Tanaka.”
The Draconis Combine woman bowed, “I am pleased to meet you, Nikki –please call me Leila.”
“Blue hair,” whispered the girl. She looked to Mohammed Bey, “May I touch?”
The teen smiled, “Yes, Nikki, of course.” He stood aside and let Tanaka sit beside her. He filled a cup with hot tea.
The child put down her chopsticks and brushed Leila’s shimmering blue hair with an open hand, “Pretty.”
“Thank you, Nikki,” said Tanaka. She looked at the men, “Don’t tell me you bought her.”
Lindholm made a face, “That isn’t funny Lojtnant!” He cleared his throat, “The young child is an orphan and as you could see, there is nobody taking care of her.”
“Tomorrow we shall take her to the physician on the Blood Ember to give her a check-up,” said As`Zaman.
Tanaka’s eyes lit up, “That’s very generous of you, Mohammed!” She turned to Nikki, “And after that, we could go shopping for some nice, new clothes for you.” As`Zaman could see the plans forming in her head. “You should see the lovely silk and cotton dresses that make here! You can’t find these things back home any more –not for these great prices!”
As`Zaman rolled his eyes.

2030 Hours

Mohammed Bey smoothed the thick quilt, “Are you comfortable, Nikki?”
The child nodded, “Yes, sir,” she hugged the thick pillow, “thank you.”
The teen stood up and bowed to Tanaka, “Thank you for allowing Nikki to share your room.”
Leila held up a hand, “Don’t thank me, I’m just making sure you guys don’t provide any bad influences on her.”
“What?” As`Zaman stood up, “What do you mean by that?”
“If it were up to you,” began Leila, “she’d be wearing a veil and carrying a jug of water on her head.”
“Jug of water?” asked the teen, “You have been watching too many silly holovids.” He looked at Nikki, “Wearing a veil indicates character and discretion –a proper lady wears a veil.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the child.
As`Zaman smiled, “Good night, ladies.”
Unable to think up a retort, Tanaka stuck out her tongue as he left the room.

Blood Ember, August 9, 3038, 0900 Hours

“Have you seen the surgeon’s report?” asked Tanaka, “I found it interesting.”
“Yes, I have,” replied As`Zaman, “Nikki is between eight and nine years old, in surprisingly good health, she has been given all the standard immunizations and other than a couple of minor scars, she’s in very good shape –is there a problem?”
“No,” responded Leila, “she’s just in amazing health for a kid who lives on the street.”
Mohammed Bey shrugged, “I am certain that more than one person has taken her in at one time or another.” They walked into the mess hall where Shakira and Nikki sat.
Nikki jumped from her chair and ran over to them, throwing her arms around Tanaka’s waist, “Aunty Leila! Uncle Mohammed!” She wore a technician’s jump suit, tailored to fit her small form, a pair of donated shoes and a Rasalhague Militia winter cap.
Shakira bowed, “Mistress, I have completed most of the sewing to make her new clothes fit better,” she indicated the bundle of cloth she carried then pointed at the sack the girl clutched, “The little one still insists on carrying that item.”
Nikki stepped between the mechwarriors, “This is mine,” she announced, hugging the canvas bag to her body.
“Don’t you want a new backpack?” offered Leila, “It will be easier to carry.”
“No,” said the child, “this is mine.”
As`Zaman shook his head, “Listen, I have to go on patrol,” he gave Nikki a hug, “be a good girl and I’ll be back with more chocolate –promise?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Nikki.
Mohammed Bey kissed her cheek, “That’s my girl.”

Sich Novo Zaporozhye, 1400 Hours

“Are you certain?” asked the Friherre, he called up an image on his navigational screen. “That isn’t very bright of them –what does Hrafn have to say?” He listened to the response, “I see, that confirms it.” He switched frequencies, “All Tyr elements, this is Overste Ulfgar, we have pirates inbound –I repeat, pirates inbound. This is not a drill.”
Mohammed Bey monitored his navigation screen and saw the path he was to take etched out in glowing lines. He tapped the screen to acknowledge the command and maneuvered his Mongoose along the trail between newly mown fields.
“All Tyr elements, Overste Ulfgar,” the message over the Mongoose’s radio sounded, “One of the inbound dropships has taken an unauthorized vector –our monitoring stations have predicted the Union-class craft to set down in the indicated radius.” Mohammed Bey saw the overlay map change to a larger scale. He shook his head, the dropship could land anywhere within five hundred kilometers.

As the Mongoose trotted past the mouth of Seville Valley, he saw Anderssen’s Trebuchet waiting. He raised the battlemech’s massive hand in greeting while maintaining radio silence. When he got closer, the teen halted his machine and opened the upper access hatch. He saw the Trebuchet do the same and he pulled the release on his harness.
“Do you think there will be fighting?” asked Anderssen, she appeared anxious.
As`Zaman shook his head, “I doubt it,” he really was not so sure, “they’d be foolish to attack the force we have here.”
“We have an overstrengthed lance,” she cautioned, “what do we do if we’re outnumbered?”
“Don’t worry, Britt,” assured the teen, “I’ll protect you.”
“With that tiny `mech?” she laughed, “You are braver than I thought.”
“Hey!”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Sich Novo Zaporozhye, August 9, 3038, 1430 Hours

“Kapten Anderssen, the hostile dropship has altered its vector once more,” reported Friherre Ulfgar, “our trackers have plotted out its path and there is a greater than sixty percent probability that they shall touch down within one hundred kilometers of your present position. You and As`Zaman shall hold position until Lojtnant Tanaka joins you.”
“Acknowledged,” replied Anderssen, “holding position.” She toggled her radio, “You heard him, Mohammed; we shall stay put.”
“Britt, that doesn’t make sense,” responded the teen, “we should have scout elements sent out and ready to maintain contact with the enemy.”
“Alone?” she asked, “Our doctrine has always been reconnaissance in force.”
“If there is anything the Lyrans cannot teach, it’s about warfare,” commented As`Zaman.
“The Tyr Regiment did just fine,” replied Britt, slightly irritated.
Mohammed Bey sighed. “And where is it now?” There was silence for a moment. A pinpoint of light appeared in the clouds and he concentrated his scanners towards it, “Kapten Anderssen, I have a target, bearing three three two off of the Blood Ember beacon, six zero kilometers –They appear to be landing about forty-five kilometers from this position.”
“Very good Kapten As`Zaman,” she replied, “relay your information to the Overste.” She could see a flurry of activity at the nearest collection of buildings, including several riders on horseback scattering from the valley. Her sensors monitored the increase in radio traffic but she could not understand Ukrainian. “Mohammed, what are the Sich people saying?”
There was a slight delay in the teen’s response, “I have no idea other than a lot of swearing.”

1450 Hours

“This is Leila, I have you in sight,” reported Tanaka.
Anderssen’s Trebuchet turned and headed toward the projected landing zone, “Acknowledged, Lojtnant,” said the Kapten, “your Jenner is to take the Ceasar position in formation, ninety meters interval.”
Tanaka saw the Trebuchet and Mongoose form up and trot from the valley, the Mongoose easily keeping up and her own battlemech swiftly closing the distance. “Any report on the enemy’s strength?”
“Negative,” responded Anderssen, “that shall be our next task.”
“Britt, I have three fast-moving ground targets,” announced As`Zaman, “most likely hovers, coming from the Sich.”
“I see them,” she replied, the fingers of her left hand set her secondary radio on the Sich security frequency, “This is Kapten Anderssen, calling hovercraft formation, please respond.”
The radio crackled in response, “Ei, da! This is Ivan Goroschenko, our Hetman has commanded that we determine strength of bandits.”
Anderssen had to think for a moment and the three hovercrafts roared past the trotting battlemechs.
As`Zaman grinned and the Mongoose waved as the Maxim, Drillson and J. Edgar sped by, “Find them, brothers!”
“Why are you encouraging them?” asked Kapten Anderssen, “What if they get killed?”
“Kapten,” replied the teen, “they are not under our command and I have a feeling the Kozakii know what they are doing.” He tapped his communications screen, “Would you like me to report the matter to the Overste?”
“That isn’t necessary, Mohammed,” said Britt, “I see the hovers are sharing our IFF.”
“Don’t be surprised if we get more company,” added Mohammed Bey, the Hetman has his own battlemech.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Britt, “why wasn’t I told?”
“That was the Overste’s decision,” explained the teen, “the only way we knew about it was because I found it while scanning the area –the Hetman was impressed.”
Anderssen keyed her radio, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“The Hetman’s battlemech,” said Britt, “what kind is it?”
“Oh, a well-kept Phoenix Hawk,” replied As`Zaman, “all painted up to look like a Cossack warrior with bright red boots.”
“You’re joking.”
The young mechwarrior laughed, “When you see it, you’ll think its one of those wooden nutcrackers.”

1530 Hours

“The dropship has disembarked half a dozen small vehicles, some armed,” reported Goroschenko, “heh, they are optimists –I see at least five heavy cargo haulers.”
“Good work,” said Overste Ulfgar, “let us know if there are any changes.” The commander studied the map and traced a line with his stylus, “Forward Tyr elements, assemble at the designated point.”
“Acknowledged,” reported Anderssen.
“Yes sir!” said Magnussen.
The Mongoose and Jenner dashed forward. “Leading the way!” said As`Zaman. He looked over his map, “Leila, we’re taking position on a wooded hill area that has a paved road running along a small stream and pond.”
“Paved road?” asked Tanaka, “That doesn’t make sense.” She looked over the map.
“There used to be buildings,” answered As`Zaman, “but a very bad winter storm wiped out that settlement.” He shook his head, “Now all the settlements are located in the shelter of the valleys along the Spine.”
“Alright, that sounds reasonable,” commented Leila, “I think we should slow down and let the others catch up with us.”
“Interesting…” commented Mohammed Bey, “It looks like the Hetman is joining us.” He noted the additional IFF signature and assigned the stylized trident tag onto the image. “Leila, if you see a colorful Phoenix Hawk jumping about the battlefield,” he warned, “that will be Hetman Sirkova, the leader of Sich Novo Zaporozhye.”


1615 Hours

“Confirmed,” reported As`Zaman, “two Vedette Medium Tanks, one Scorpion Light Tank, one Striker Light Tank, a Pike Support Vehicle plus six light ground cars with mounted weapons.”
“What were those battlemechs again?” asked Magnusson.
“I can see a Locust moving up with the lighter vehicles,” said Mohammed Bey, “a Shadow Hawk, and escorting the haulers, what appears to be a Warhammer, painted half red and white, the red on its right half.”
“Zamoyski,” said Hetman Sirkova over the frequency, “that dog of a Pole once had a company –the others most likely abandoned that lunatic.”
“Do you know this pirate?” asked Overste Ulfgar. He positioned his Hunchback among some trees on the reverse slope of a low hill and observed the line of approaching vehicles. He gazed over the tops of the trees that grew at the base of the hill and made out movement in the distant haze.
“His raiders come by every other year, Overste,” responded the elderly warrior, “it galls me to think of the grain, fabric and alcohol we have paid in tribute for Zamoyski and his pig-dogs to take away –this time we make him pay!”
“Hetman,” said the Friherre, “I’d like you to hang back, about a kilometer behind our defenses and hurl the best insults you can at these thieves.”
“Tell the womenfolk to cover their ears,” laughed the Hetman, “the words I will use shall cause paint to peel!”

Something caught the Overste’s attention, some movement in the trees –it was a flock of ravens. His hand gripped the ivory block that hung from a rawhide cord, etched with what looked like a crude arrow pointing up. It was the runic letter, Tiwaz –the symbol for the Norse god Tyr.

“Remember how we ran the scenario using inferno missiles,” reminded As`Zaman, “The tanks are your primary targets –leave the battlemechs to us, Leila.”
“Yes, I know,” said Tanaka, she held her breath as she saw a pair of speeding groundcars tearing around the stand of trees. She swung her pipper over the first vehicle in line and loosed a volley of missiles.
Mohammed Bey winced at the brilliant flash of light that enveloped both open-top rovers and they both tumbled end over end, bathed in flames on a pond of fire. “That will cause some radio chatter.” The three hovercraft shot past his position to hide behind the hill where the Hunchback stood. Another groundcar, hot in pursuit of the hovers, screamed into view and skidded to a halt not a hundred meters in front of the waiting Mongoose. The driver tried to spin the groundcar around while the gunner raked the Mongoose with ineffective bullets. Two lasers stabbed through the cold air and the vehicle burst into flames, men leaped for cover and died. Heart pounding, As`Zaman turned his machine and advanced, more to wipe the image of flaming bodies writhing in agony from his mind.

“At them!” commanded the Friherre. He saw the armored vehicles slow down and in the distance; the Warhammer broke into a run. The tanks had chased the hovercraft to a narrow gap between the trees where the paved roadway met the pond, which had frozen over. The hovers easily sailed over the ice to safety. One of the Vedettes blocked the road and the Locust came dashing through the woods.

As`Zaman pushed his Mongoose into a run, skirting the trees along the left flank. Tanaka’s Jenner ran up to the Vedette and launched her missiles at short range. Covered with flaming gel, the tank fired its light autocannon in return; the rounds flew wide.

Anderssen’s Trebuchet walked to the top of the hill and loosed its long-range missiles at the Locust. With great satisfaction, the Kapten observed the light machine’s leg armor stripped away.
The Hunchback joined the Trebuchet on the hilltop and raked the Scorpion tank with energy weapons.
The vehicles chose to concentrate their attacks on the visible Hunchback and Trebuchet –they pelted the battlemechs with autocannon and laser fire.
Magnussen’s Panther rose into the air and landed in the woods. Missiles flying, a pair of groundcars fled back toward the dropship, machineguns firing wildly.
“The Locust is down!” declared Leila triumphantly. She triggered a laser into the Vedette for good measure.
“That would be that bastard Paczkowitz,” growled Sirkova, “don’t trust that filthy snake even if he shuts down.”

Overste Ulfgar ducked involuntarily as a plasma bolt tore through the air, narrowly missing the Hunchback. He grinned as he saw the Warhammer pounding its way up the abandoned roadway at full tilt. “Here comes Zamoyski.”

The Shadow Hawk rose over the tree line beside the frozen pond, its weapons blazing at the Trebuchet but doing little but tearing up the hard packed dirt.
“Is that the best you could do?” laughed Britt; she switched her sights over to the approaching Warhammer and sent two volleys of missiles, which pecked away at the heavy machine’s armor.
As`Zaman shook his head. He and Tanaka darted around the battlefield, avoiding enemy fire while the Trebuchet, Panther and the Hunchback stood on the hill and traded fire with the hostiles. “Lyrans,” he muttered.

The Jenner sprinted away from the gap as the flaming Vedette pushed forward. The Maxim raced across the pond and fired its weapons in every direction. The J. Edgar sped up to the fallen Locust and set the woods alight with its twin flamethrowers. As the nimble hover turned to flee, it exploded in a ball of fire after several missiles launched by the Striker tore though its armor.

“Cursed Poles!” shouted Sirkova in anger. His Phoenix Hawk’s jets roared to life and the battlemech gracefully lifted over the treetops. “Let’s see how you like a taste of Kozak vengeance!” The battlemech’s massive feet struck the ground near the fallen Locust and the Hetman fired his lasers, ignoring the rising heat in his cockpit. Molten armor sloughed away, laying bare the Locust’s torn myomer and frame. The fallen machine blasted away at its antagonist with its remaining heavy machinegun.

Kapten Anderssen gasped when the warning lights and alarms indicated the armor stripped away from her Trebuchet’s right arm –the Warhammer’s particle cannon nearly took the arm off. She pushed her machine forward, taking cover in the light forest at the base of the hill. The lead Vedette, still on fire, maneuvered to the rear of her battlemech and its turret lifted from its body as an explosion ripped the tank apart. The second Vedette, followed by the Scorpion tank, pushed through the gap.

The Pike sat back and fired at long range with its trio of light autocannon, and proved to be little more than an annoyance to the Hunchback. “Tanaka,” he commanded, “you must stop those tanks from getting through.”
“Acknowledged,” answered Leila, she pushed her Jenner over the flaming wreckage of the first Vedette. Another brace of inferno missiles set the Scorpion tank alight and its crew bailed out immediately.
Magnussen’s Panther stood its ground beside the Trebuchet, particle cannon lighting the dusk each time it fired.

The Warhammer continued its rapid approach. Overste Ulfgar trained his weapon sights on the heavy battlemech and was about to fire when the Warhammer’s massive arms flailed clumsily and its feet skidded out from under it.
The Friherre thought he could feel the ground shake when the Warhammer slammed onto the icy pavement face down and slid off the road, past the gap and onto the ice-covered pond. The ice held for a brief moment but slowly gave away, a huge cloud of steam marking the spot where the Warhammer came to rest. The Overste kept his sights aimed at where the plume of steam wafted from the roiling water.

The Mongoose sprinted through the forest and raked the Shadow Hawk’s back with its lasers. Teamed with the fast, light battlemech, the Sich Novo Zaporozhye’s Drillson assailed the Shadow Hawk with autocannon, missiles and laser fire. “This guy’s in trouble,” announced As`Zaman, his active probe showing the Shadow Hawk’s armor dangerously thin in many areas. The teen’s jaw dropped as the Shadow Hawk’s jump jets spewed fire and moved the Battlemech to the safety of a dense formation of trees.

Overste Ulfgar squeezed his weapons’ triggers as the Warhammer rose to its feet. Fragments of armor tore away from the battlemech’s torso.
The Warhammer’s return fire from its arm-mounted particle cannons sailed wide.
The Trebuchet’s missile racks released their loads of ordinance, the Warhammer staggered backwards and dropped under the pond’s surface once more.
The Panther charged down the hill in pursuit of the Shadow Hawk, its energy weapon melting away the pirate mech’s armor.

The Shadow Hawk obviously had enough and fell back, followed by the remaining tanks. Tanaka charged after them, lobbing fiery death at the fleeing vehicles. Magnussen’s Panther, the Drillson and the Maxim harried the Shadow Hawk as well, stripping away armor.

Hetman Sirkova’s Phoenix Hawk charged up the paved road and practically tackled the fleeing battlemech, sending it tumbling to the ground. Mohammed Bey maneuvered his Mongoose toward the fallen Shadow Hawk but had to pause when the surviving Vedette swerved into his path, weapons firing wildly. Frustrated when his three primary lasers missed his target at spitting range, he instinctively urged the Mongoose to kick the armored vehicle and tore one set of tracks away. The Vedette’s engine shut down and its crew bailed out, their hands held high in surrender.

The Shadow Hawk struggled to its feet and wavered for a moment before toppling onto its back. Mohammed Bey pulled his Mongoose back a few paces, weapons charged and aimed. The pirate battlemech’s torso erupted in flame, its unstable ammunition bin damaged in the fall. The teen’s jaw dropped but he kept his eyes on his sensor screen –the pilot had successfully ejected.

The Hunchback stood motionless on the shore of the ice-covered pond. “He isn’t coming up,” commented the Friherre. The veteran surveyed the battlefield, “All Tyr elements, fall back and regroup.”
“We’ve got them on the run, sir,” reasoned Mohammed Bey, “shouldn’t we pursue?”
The Overste smiled. “Very commendable, Kapten As`Zaman,” he replied, “do you intend on capturing their dropship all by yourself?”
“Oh, no, sir,” answered the teen, “if Lojtnant Tanaka is available, she could help.”
The Friherre cleared his throat, “Kapten Anderssen, report your status.”
“Sir, I am fine,” she replied, “my Trebuchet’s right arm is stripped of armor but no apparent internal damage. Overall, armor coverage is eighty-seven percent.”
“Lojtnant Magnussen, report.”
“Friherre, I am fine,” he reported, “armor at eighty-two percent –I’m ready to assault a dropship.”
Overste Ulfgar nodded, “Noted, Lojtnant.” He looked at the bubbles rippling the surface of the pond for a moment, “Lojtnant Tanaka, what is your status.”
“Sir, I am untouched,” she replied. “I am currently watching over three prisoners –we need medical assistance here.”
The Phoenix Hawk strode to the edge of the water, “The Maxim has recovery troops and shall round up the criminals,” announced Sirkova.
“What is your status, Hetman?” asked Ulfgar.
“I’ve lost some armor,” replied the elder Kazak, “and two of my jump jets are damaged.” He sounded a little disappointed, “The Warhammer is shut down.”
“Shut down? What’s he trying to pull?” asked Magnussen.
“That Polish swine is a tricky one,” warned the Hetman, “don’t let your guard down for a minute.”

Mohammed Bey watched the ejected mech pilot settle to the ground and stepped up to within fifty meters of him. The youth keyed his external speakers, “Drop your weapons, hands up.” He smiled when the prisoner complied.

“Kapten As`Zaman, report.”
Friherre Bödvar,” replied As`Zaman, “I am untouched and have prisoners, including the Shadow Hawk pilot.”
“Good work, Kapten,” commented the Overste, “the Maxim is on its way to your position.”
“Excellent work, worthy Bey!” exclaimed Hetman Sirkova, his voice took on a menacing growl, “that one has a sizable bounty upon his head for his crimes.”


1800 Hours

Overste Ulfgar sipped his hot coffee and regarded the pond. The bubbles had ceased and he could see the ice beginning to form on the edges of the calm surface. He sat at the open hatch of his Hunchback and pulled the thermal blanket over his shoulders. The serenity of the scene was so different now, so calming. Perhaps it was because the scene reminded him of his home so many light years away. His eyes narrowed when his memories turned his surroundings to smoldering ruin under the feet of Ronin battlemechs fighting Kurita and Kungsarmee forces. Nothing was spared. At the same time he was in Rasalhague, arguing with the newly self-appointed Prince and his cronies over the role of loyal Tyr members who had fought so hard and sacrificed so much. His reward amounted to a handshake and “We’ll see what we can do.”
He left the regiment with the usual paper version of a pat on the back and returned home to the ruins of his planetary holdings.
The Friherre’s reverie was disturbed by an incoming transmission, “Ulfgar, go ahead.”
“This is Tanaka, it looks like the pirate’s dropship is lifting off, sir,” reported the scouting element.
“Thank you, lojtnant,” he replied, now fully alert –he scolded himself for dwelling on the past. He owed his followers so much for their loyalty and this mission would be the start of their rewards. He keyed his radio, “Sergeant Torkelson, where are you?”
“Friherre,” replied the sergeant, “the recovery vehicles are still inbound, I estimate under ten minutes.”

Mohammed Bey shivered slightly as he watched the crews on recovery detail gather the numerous corpses from the battlefield. The Kozaki removed the handful of prisoners and he had to intercede when some of the guards got too rough. The Zaporozhians were not happy about the teen’s interference but obeyed him nonetheless.
He heard the unmistakable, high-pitched squeak of tracked equipment approaching, “Here come the heavy recovery vehicles,” Mohammed Bey said aloud, glad that he packed one of the heavy, wool tcherkessa coats the Kozaki women sewed to order. He wore his turban instead of the fleece kubanka worn by the men of the Sich. This led the Zaporozhians to call him “Bey” or “Pasha” when they addressed him.
Sergeant Nykvist shifted his machine pistol to his shoulder, “How do you know?”
As`Zaman sniffed, “The Azami sharpen their senses by regular trips to the desert.” He could feel the frozen ground under his boots vibrate, “That is how Allah trains the faithful –we cannot afford to allow the trappings of civilization to dull our ability to see a man on the far horizon or the feel the tread of a foot on a distant sand dune. Do you not feel their approach?”
The sergeant shivered but not from the cold, “Hey, you are right!” He shook his head, “I believe it now,” the veteran admitted, he finally heard the sound of the treads and felt the low rumble of engines. Any soldier experienced these things every day in garrison, was he just so used to relying on his battlemech’s sensors that he didn’t notice his natural senses at work?

The teen tilted his head and slowly turned. He could hear distant singing and took a few steps to the edge of the woods. Lanterns wavered through the haze –the men on body recovery detail loaded the last bagged bodies onto a trailer,
“Vniz po matushkye po Volgye, po Vo-o-o-ol-gye,
po shirokomu razdolyu, razdo-o-o-ol-yu”
Entranced by the song, the mechwarrior strode over the frozen ground to where the workers gathered.
“Razýgralasya pagoda, pago-o-o-oda,
pagodushka vyershovaya, vyersho-va-aya.”
The crewmen removed their fleece caps and bowed as the teen approached. As`Zaman executed a salaam, “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, “please carry on.”
One of the men stepped forward; he wore a ragged, black wool tcherkessa over his embroidered, white linen blouse and wide, pleated trousers of blue. His boots, like the others of the Sich, were deep red with pointed toes. “I am Gavrilo,” said the man. He removed his fleece hat and bowed, “you are the young Tatar Khan who fights beside the Varyagi.”
As`Zaman returned the bow, “Please, I am Mohammed Bey, Gospodin Gavrilo.” Some of the men chuckled at the young man’s use of the honorific.
“Ey, ey ey!” said Gavrilo, tugging at his scraggly gray beard, “just Gavrilo is fine.” He laughed and shook his head, “is it true that you captured a tank with a single kick?”
The teen blushed and nodded, “It wasn’t anything.”
“Listen to him!” laughed the Kozak, “Varyagi aren’t so modest!”
“Who are the Varyagi?” asked Mohammed Bey.
Gavrilo looked at him, “The other mechwarriors –the Vikings.”
“Oh, them,” replied the young man, “they’re alright, I guess.”

Several meters away, the other Kozaks had piled some dead branches and brush. They set the wood alight. “We shall have the trials tomorrow –the Hetman will most likely contact the Friherre about inviting you and the others,” said Gavrilo, he watched the dry leaves catch fire and float up into the darkening sky, “the Kurgan ceremony shall be just before sunset.”
“Kurgan ceremony?”
“When one of our warriors dies,” said the Kozak, “he is buried under a great mound of dirt –and his brother Kozaki wish him farewell with a procession and songs. We lost three good Kozaki today, good warriors.”
As`Zaman noted that three of the body bags were separated from the others, each decorated with a crude wreath and a wax candle. The bodies of the pirates where piled like just so much garbage. Again the youth shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Southern Plain, August 9, 3038, 2130 Hours

The Mongoose stood aside as the recovery vehicles trundled up the ramps that led into the Blood Ember where dozens of technicians waited at their respective bays. “Ali,” said Mohammed Bey over his radio, “I estimate fifteen minutes.” He activated the heating elements in his viewing screen –it was snowing out on the plains and he was already planning travel alternatives for the next day. He pulled up his area display and tapped into the dropship in orbit that monitored the weather. The forecast predicted fifteen to twenty centimeters of snow before dawn.
A ground guide motioned with his hand lantern and signaled for the Mongoose to proceed up the ramp.

As`Zaman climbed down the scaffolding, Ali helped him remove his climate vest and handed him a warm robe. “Thank you, it is freezing out there.”
The technician gingerly opened the access panel above the Mongoose’s left heel and linked his diagnostic equipment to it, “I’ll be happy when finally seal those ramp doors –they let all the heat out.”

The lift doors opened and Mohammed Bey stepped into the corridor in time to see Kapten Anderssen’s back as she strode toward her room. “Britt!” he hurried down the corridor as she turned to face him. “I’d like to talk to you about today’s action.”
The officer nodded, “Yes, the overste shall be expecting some manner of report from each of us.” She tilted her head, “I’ve just had dinner at the mess –I could meet you in one of the conference rooms after you’ve eaten and cleaned up.”
As`Zaman bowed, “I shall see you in about an hour, then.”

Mess Hall, 2215 Hours

“You were able to keep your speed up,” said Tanaka, “I had to get close to use my missiles.” She sipped her coffee and leaned on the table –it had been a long day. “Those darn tanks cost me over a ton of armor.”
“I agree,” said As`Zaman with nod, “you took the most damage of the two of us. You also took out more vehicles than anyone else but that was your job.” He had finished his meal long ago but Leila happened to be in the mess and they went over the battle, viewed the camera recordings and sensor readings.
“What I can’t understand,” commented Leila, “is the way those people from Rasalhague just stood there and traded fire with the pirates –I heard the techs complaining about Anderssen’s Trebuchet, the right arm was ready to fall off.”
“It shows their Lyran training,” remarked Mohammed Bey, “you are right, though –they fight like they are still piloting assault battlemechs.” The teen noticed the time and shut down his compad, “I have to go –too much to do tomorrow.”
“But…” uttered Tanaka, she was tired but really wanted to talk.
“Sorry, I have to go,” he said as he stood up and headed for the exit.

Hallway, 2330 Hours

Tanaka quietly padded along the corridor that led to the various staterooms. She had followed Mohammed Bey from the Mess to this hallway an hour earlier and with great consternation watched Kapten Anderssen greet him at the door to her room. Unable to sleep, she stood outside of the Kapten’s room debating whether to knock or just go back to her own cabin. Her curiosity got the better of her and she settled with pressing her ear to the door. The door was thick and insulated but she smiled when he heard the voices inside the room –they were arguing over something and she knew it had something to do with a serious disagreement on tactics. She felt absolutely no guilt about eavesdropping and headed back to her room –she could sleep now.

“It doesn’t matter how you were trained,” said As`Zaman, “your machine suffered unacceptable amounts of damage because of faulty doctrine.”
Anderssen refused to budge on the matter, “It was not faulty –from the hilltop we had a commanding position and fired with optimal accuracy.”
“And the pirates returned fire at stationary targets, Britt,” argued the teen, “I have seen the damage reports –the techs are working around the clock to repair the three battlemechs that stood on the hill.” He shook his head, “You people were just lucky that the Warhammer slipped on the icy pavement and skidded over a hundred meters before crashing through the ice.” He had set up his holoplayer on her desk and used his recordings of the battle to piece together a graphic report.
“I shall concede you that point,” She said, “those tanks were a pain.”
“You have to admit, Tanaka did her job,” added Mohammed Bey, “and racked up an impressive number of kills.”
“Nobody counts soft vehicles,” dismissed Anderssen.
As`Zaman rolled his eyes, “Every casualty inflicted on the enemy counts –those tiny vehicles were designed to infiltrate, get past the first line of defense and create havoc in the rear.”
The kapten folded her arms defiantly. She knew he was right but she did not like the idea of giving in to this young know-it-all.

Blood Ember, 0130 Hours

Ali stood in front of the heater, rubbing his numb fingers together trying to get warm blood to flow into the digits. The young technician’s eyes brightened when he saw Shakira emerge from the service lift.
“I thought you might like some hot soup, Ali,” said Shakira. She placed the thermal container she carried and filled a two bowls with steaming meat, vegetables and broth.
“This is very kind of you,” replied Ali, “thank you very much.” He took the bowl and spoon and sat down. “Is that coffee?”
The young servant nodded and poured him a cup of the hot, dark beverage, “You must be exhausted, you should get some rest.” She took a quick glance around before she removed her veil and kissed his cheek.
“Yes, yes, I know,” he whispered, “but our master’s battlemech must be ready at all times.” He glanced over to the bay where a crew of technicians and assistants worked through the night making repairs and replacing armor sections on Kapten Anderssen’s Trebuchet.
“I thought he brought it back untouched,” Shakira told him, “how much do you have to do?”
“I thank merciful Allah that my Bey’s Mongoose returned safe,” commented Ali. He smiled and chuckled, “other than the routine calibration checks, all I had to do was retouch the paint on one of the feet –the one he used to kick the tank.” He stirred his soup before he tasted it, “This is wonderful!”
The young woman smiled before snuggling up to him, “I’m glad you like it, I was getting tired of the preserved meals they serve in the mess. I’m glad that there’s a shuttle that takes us to the valley markets.” She closed her eyes when she felt his arm on her shoulder and leaned closer. “Do you think he’ll allow it?”
Ali shrugged, and whispered, “Our master is fair and has left you untouched –even though he has the right…” He sounded hopeful, “I know him –he will grant me this request and give us his blessing.”
“You will ask him?”
“Yes, today” replied the technician, “before we leave for home, you shall be my wife.”

The smoke from the cigar curled up to the ceiling. Mohammed Bey took a brief puff and passed the cigar to Kapten Anderssen, who lay curled beside him, under the sheet. They had pulled the padding from the cramped bunk and spread it and the blankets on the floor of the small cabin.
“You were wound up kind of tight, soldier,” she whispered then contemplated the cigar in her slim fingers and placed it between her lips.
The young man gazed at her and marveled at the metallic sheen of her long, blonde hair reflecting the candlelight. “You seemed to enjoy it –I’m glad the bulkheads are so thick, the entire dropship might have heard you.” He pulled the sheet from her shoulder and kissed it.
“Fine,” she said, blowing a cloud of smoke across the small room, “no more critique…” She turned her head to meet his lips with hers.
“So,” he whispered, “you could have chosen anyone, why me?” He took the cigar from her and placed it in a ceramic tray on the desk.
She lay on her back, stared at the ceiling and sighed, “Oh, please…” Anderssen closed her eyes, “Do you really want to know?”
“Did I not ask?”
She smiled as he kissed a trail from her hand and up along her wrist. “You are not like the men I have traveled with for the past ten years, Mohammed…”
“Oh? In what way?” he asked, his lips leaving a tingling trail along her arm to her shoulder once again.
“We’ll just say that you’d be far more discrete, for one,” she replied, “most soldiers would go around and brag to the others –you won’t do that.”
“That is right, Britt,” he admitted, “I would not think about doing that.”
“Well, you’d better not,” she warned playfully, “I still outrank you.”
As`Zaman sat up and peered at the digital display on the desk, “I have to go –I must attend the Rada at Novo Zaporozhye in the morning.”
Anderssen reached up and pulled at his arm, “What? We’ve already prepared our reports…” She implored him with her eyes, “You could sleep here –I’ll even help you get ready when you have to leave.”
“If I stay here,” he told her, “I’d be too exhausted to do anything tomorrow.”
She pulled him to the floor, hugged him and hissed in his ear, “You make that sound like a bad thing.”


Sich Novo Zaporozhye, August 10, 3038, 0830 Hours

“Ey! Ey! Ey! Kozakii, za Radu!” shouted the herald, dressed in the traditional white embroidered linen shirt, billowing sharovary trousers, damask zhupan tunic, soft red Morocco boots and red silk sash around his waist. His head was shaved, save for the Tataric oseledets –the long scalp lock draped over his left ear, denoting his veteran status. A large wagon stood behind the herald and upon that wagon, a trio of drummers pounded away at three massive kettledrums. “Ey! Ey! Ey! Kozakii, za Radu!”
Thousands of people from the other valleys came to see the spectacle –a tribunal for the captured pirates. Horses, wagons, groundcars, utility haulers with trailers, all carried passengers to the wide river that separated the Kozak settlement from the wide, well-traveled path that led to the other valleys. A sturdy bridge fashioned of carved basalt blocks spanned the river and today double the usual number of armed guards manned the towers and main gate.

“Look at this crowd;” muttered Lojtnant Magnussen, “half the planet’s population must be here.” He towered over most of the milling people and pushed his way across the bridge.
“It is unbelievable,” replied Lojtnant Altmark, “it is like a festival or sporting event –at least there are several food vendors here. Let’s get some mead.”
Magnussen saw the crew of men constructing a series of gibbets in front of the gates, “I see that the Kozaki plan to hang them all.”
The scene caused an uneasy shiver to travel along Altmark’s spine, “I know the pirates are guilty but they won’t just be executed –they’ll be on display for a while.” He made his way to the mead booth, “Two large, please.” He dropped a pair of gleaming gold trade coins on the counter.
“Sposibo, gospodin!” replied the vendor. He placed a heavy ceramic tankard under the tap and filled it with golden mead.
Magnussen took a filled tankard and took a long draw, his eyes closed as the cold liquid splashed down his throat. “Not bad, not bad at all.”
The other officer wiped the foam from his moustache, “Let’s see if we can get to where we can at least hear the discussion.” He stood on his toes and peered over the press, “I see a better vantage point.” Altmark motioned with his tall mug, “I think we could join the Friherre, Nykvist and As`Zaman –they found a good spot inside the amphitheater.” He glanced around, “Odd, I don’t see Kapten Anderssen anywhere.”
Magnussen growled under his breath, he had tried to contact the kapten all night but she left her communication gear turned off. She had been spending far too much time with that damned Mongoose pilot…

“I was not so surprised,” remarked the Friherre, “once the Warhammer fell back into the pond, the breaches in its torso caused the engine to shut down.” The veteran sipped hot broth from a wooden bowl, “He couldn’t even eject safely.” He shook his head, “When the recovery crew finally lifted Zamoyski’s battlemech from the water, he was dead –he shot himself twice.”
“Twice?” asked Mohammed Bey. He held a steaming cup of hot chai in his gloved hands.
“Yes,” replied the commander, “his first attempt shattered his lower jaw,” his voice turned grim, “he blacked out for a while before he finally tried a second time –at least, that’s what the battle recordings told us.”
The teen’s face paled slightly, “That’s horrible.”
“He was lucky,” said Nykvist, “all the men captured yesterday are pirates and don’t get the traditional protection that soldiers receive –they’ll all be executed before this day is done.”

There was a thunder of drums as Hetman Sirkova entered the amphitheater, respendent in his colorful silk brocade coat, an ornate mace tucked in his wide silk sash. He drew the mace and raised it, signaling for silence. As per tradition, he removed his fleece hat and bowed to the surrounding crowd.
“Brothers! Kozakii! Free people!” The elderly Ukrainian turned about and bowed humbly, he continued, in his booming bass voice, “Yesterday, our peaceful settlement was threatened and its defenders attacked by evil people who have robbed us in the past.” He paused as the surrounding audience responded in a moving wave of murmurs. “Yesterday, the robbers failed –due to the brave efforts of our Kozakii and our guests, the Varyagi!”
A cheer went up from the assembly; Mohammed Bey could see people congratulating Nykvist, the Friherre, Altmark and Magnussen, who received the attention with modest smiles and waves. The teen cheered as well.
The Hetman drew the mace from his sash and held it aloft. The crowd ceased their cheers and grew silent. “The Rada is a tradition with roots beginning in the days of antiquity; when the free tribes of Asia on distant Terra first tamed the horse.” He motioned to the crowd with an outstretched hand, “All the men of the Sich have a say in today’s proceedings.” He paused to take a breath, “Today we have assembled to pass judgment on those swine who tried to rob us,” he waved to a group of armed Kozakii who stood before a sealed container set upon a large trailer, “bring the criminals forth!”

The guards around the trailer stepped aside; one of them unlocked the wide doors and pulled them wide under the ready barrels of several assault rifles. A pair of guards entered the container and coaxed the prisoners out at gunpoint.
As`Zaman winced when the first of the men limped into daylight. It was obvious that synthetic ties bound their wrists, the prisoners thrown into the bare container with no food, water or medical treatment. He noted that most of them visibly trembled. Was it from spending the night in a freezing container or the thought of a crowd thirsty for their blood?
Another pair of guards entered the temporary cell and dragged out a gray-haired corpse. Mohammed Bey recognized the long thermal mechwarrior’s undersuit. The dead man’s head was misshapen and stained black with dried blood.
“That’s Colonel Zamoyski,” whispered Gavrilo. The old Kozak nudged the teen, “He took the coward’s way out.”
As`Zaman nodded in silence, aware that the people around him growled in seething fury as they watched the hapless prisoners dragged out before them. From beyond the palisade, he could hear the carpenters’ hammers as they worked on the gallows. These men were doomed.

“Brothers,” began Sirkova, “before you are the men who are guilty of the high crime of piracy and the murder of Glukhov and Nemirov –two good Kozakii, brave warriors.” He pointed an accusing finger at the line of kneeling prisoners. “There is no denial, there is no defense,” announced the Hetman, “have I not seen them with own eyes? There are many who witnessed these robbers in the act but in fairness, I must challenge anyone to step forward to offer a word in their defense.” He paused for a moment and gazed over the crowd that had suddenly fallen silent. Satisfied, he motioned to one of the prisoners who also wore the remnants of a battlemech pilot’s uniform, “Stepan Paczkowitz, as one of the accursed pirate leaders you are sentenced to the slow death of impalement.” A guard seized the man as he tried to leap to his feet. He was wrestled to the ground, he struggled and cursed before the guards gagged him and dragged him to his feet.
“Antony Zadczyk, as a pirate leader, your sentence is impalement,” declared the Hetman. The guards rushed to restrain the second officer. The crowd applauded and cheered at the sentencing and again drew silent when the Hetman raised his mace.
“The remaining pirates,” recited Sirkova, “having wielded arms against our Orthodox Autonomous Oblast, Sich Zaporozhye, are hereby sentenced to death by hanging.”


1000 Hours

Mohammed Bey strode through the Sich, deep in thought. Despite the carnival atmosphere, the food, the music and celebration he knew he would eventually have to walk through the gate and see the corpses on display –they had also impaled the dead leader, Zamoyski. With the oncoming winter, those bodies would be decorating the walls for months.

“Hej, Kapten As`Zaman!” Sergeant Nykvist saluted the teen and offered him a tankard, “You look disappointed, my friend, have a drink and celebrate.”
“Thank you, no,” said the youth, “I really don’t feel like it,” He waved the tankard away, “and you know I don’t touch alcohol.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said the sergeant, “Listen, the girls here are real friendly, especially to us Varangians –that’s what they call us.” He whispered, “Real friendly, you know what I mean?”
As`Zaman smiled, “I know what you mean, Sergeant, thank you for the tip.”
“No problem sir,” he winked and saluted the teen before he turned and followed the scent of roasting sausages.
The teen felt a tug at his arm, “Hey there!” It was Tanaka with Nikki in tow. “You must have left early this morning.”
“Hello, Uncle Mohammed!” said the child. Shakira had taken her to the market and selected better fitting clothes, although she insisted in carrying her old knapsack. “Where is Kaighul?”
The teen smiled, knelt and hugged Nikki, “My horse is stabled nearby, my dear.” He looked up to Leila and grinned, “Have you two eaten yet?”
“We had something light in the mess,” replied Tanaka.
“Sweet rolls and hot cocoa, uncle,” added Nikki, “yummy!”
As`Zaman leaned close to Leila and whispered, “How did you bring her in? Didn’t she notice the bodies on display?”
The young woman whispered in return, “When we got off the shuttle, I made sure that she didn’t look up –luckily, there were street entertainers from the Leng Collective to distract her.”
Mohammed Bey took the little girl’s other hand, “Come on, let’s go to the pony ride!”

Sich Zaporozhye was one of the older settlements on Midgard. They had picked a valley sheltered from the fierce winds from the north through which a wide river flowed. Sich was an old Tataric word, meaning “fort” and the settlement was very much a fort, with high stone and wood walls with machinegun towers, hidden bunkers and artillery positions.
On any day you could venture into their armory and see the massive waterwheels turning with the force of tons of falling water. These waterwheels drove the power to the forges, hammers and lathes that processed the ore the Kozakii drew from the base of the mountain range, which boasted peaks up to fifty kilometers high.
The ringing of hammers on forty anvils heralded the production of fine, watered steel blades, keen and balanced for the discerning warrior, knives and shears for kitchen and home.
Near one wall of the valley stood the distillery where cargo haulers unloaded tons of grain and carried away tanks filled with ethanol fuel as well as fiery liquor.
Herds of small, steppeland ponies grazed on waving feathergrass while their herders sang the pentatonic, drawn-out songs to the tune of the stringed bandura –a stringed instrument with between twenty-four and fifty-five strings, similar to a combination of a lyre and a lute.
Along the river, large, artificial ponds stocked with trout, carp and sunfish filled the nets of their caretakers.

As`Zaman marveled at this peaceful community, so far from the knowledge of the Inner Sphere yet thriving with an odd combination of ancient and modern knowledge, at peace with their neighbors yet under constant threat by strangers.
“Ponies, uncle!” exclaimed Nikki. Her voice drew the youth from his reverie, as did her pulling at his arm.
He laughed and trotted toward the pony ride pulling Nikki and Leila along.

“Ey, Kapten As`Zaman!” shouted Gavrilo, who rushed up and surprised the teen with a jarring bear hug, “You will attend the kurgan ceremony, yes?”
Mohammed Bey stepped back for a breath, “Yes, yes, of course,” he replied, “What may I do for you?” He noted the strong odor of vodka.
The old Kozak waved a hand, “You need not do anything,” he said. “Our Hetman was very impressed with your spirit in battle!” He noticed Tanaka and bowed, “Greetings, Gospodina Lojtnant!” He waited for Leila to respond and turned back to As`Zaman, “Hetman Sirkova has commanded a fine Kozak uniform, with the rank of sotnyk, be made for you!” announced Gavrilo, as well as a blade suitable for a young bogatir!”
“Bogatir? I guess that’s good,” replied Mohammed Bey. He bowed, “Please tell your Hetman that I am honored to be considered as one of your worthy number!” He turned his head to Leila and winked, “So, brother Gavrilo, where do I have to go?”
“I will let you know,” said the Kozak, “the ceremony is this afternoon so we have plenty of time.”


Southern Plain, 1630 Hours

The winds were just beginning to stir the powdery snow when the mass of riders trotted out onto the plain and assembled at a spot where fourteen mounds stood. A mining mech trudged out of the way of the advancing horses to reveal a clearing of scraped-away topsoil and several smaller heaps of loose dirt. The ground outside of the valleys was more like frozen tundra so the miner was needed to supply loosened soil for the burial.
Mohammed Bey dismounted from Kaighul at a motion from the Hetman.
Gavrilo pulled the fur hat from his head and bowed to his comrades, “Brothers! Kozakii! Free People!” He paused for a moment, “What greater wish could any Kozak have than a brave death in battle?” He covered his eyes, “Our two brothers, Glukov and Nemerov have achieved that wish and have fallen as great warriors, in the service of our holy Sich!” Tucked in the Kozak’s sash was an ornate, silver crucifix, the length of his forearm. He drew the crucifix from his silken sash and held it aloft. The Kozaks bowed their heads and crossed themselves.
“We shall remember you, brothers,” announced Gavrilo, “until that day when we shall all join you at the table where you sit and feast with our Savior!” Again the assembly crossed themselves.
Several men began to play their banduras and the Hetman removed his fur hat, strode to a pile of dirt, pushed several handfuls of soil into his hat and solemnly marched to the three linen-wrapped bodies laying on the frozen ground. The leader muttered some words and poured the contents of his hat over the still forms. Following the Hetman came the Sich officers and then the Kozak rank and file, each taking soil and covering the bodies. Hundreds of Kozaks, perhaps thousands, each with a slung rifle and curved blade, scooped up a portion of dirt to cover their comrades in a ceremony that stretched back into prehistory –the kurgan. Mohammed Bey joined the procession and by the time he filed past the grave, the mound was shoulder high. He looked at the other kurgans and they were easily twice a man’s height –each with a blackened blade protruding from its peak.
As darkness fell, the wind picked up and the host of riders, carrying colorful banners with images of Jesus and Mary, made its way back to the shelter of the Sich.

Mohammed Bey saw that the Kozaks had set up lights on the parapet walls to illuminate the pirates’ bodies even after dark –a brutal warning to those who live by a brutal trade.


Sich Novo Zaporozhye, 2100 Hours

Kapten Anderssen pulled the wool cloak about her shoulders and cursed under her breath. The overste was impressed with the report she and Kapten As`Zaman submitted and he wanted to see the teen’s holovid recreation of the battle. Of course, the young man was nowhere to be found. She was about to give up and return to the Blood Ember when she heard a familiar tenor voice accompanied by others in song.

“Vdol po ulitse metyelitsa metyot,
za metyelitsey krasavitsa idyot.
Tý pastoi, pastoi, krasavitsa maya,
dozvol naglyadyet'sya, radost', na tibya!”
Three men staggered as they walked down the path, arm in arm. They made room for the tall woman to pass.
“There you are!” exclaimed Anderssen. The three staggering men happened to be Gavrilo, Sergeant Nykvist and Mohammed Bey. She didn’t notice the teen at first since he was dressed like a Kozak officer, with a tall fur hat and curved sword.
As`Zaman and Nykvist snapped to attention and saluted the officer. The youth bowed, “Privyet, Sotnyka Anderssen,” he continued, “Dobri den'! Yak sya mayete? Yak spravy?”
Taken by surprise, the female officer stuttered, “W-what?”
“Moyi Brati,” said Mohammed Bey to his fellows, “vasha kraseeva Khansha –Sotnyka Anderssen!” He turned to her and bowed, “Sotnyka Anderssen, poznaiyomsya: chye Gavrilo i Nyvist!”
“Khansha!” said Gavrilo as he bowed.
Nykvist bowed as well, “Kraseeva!”
“Mohammed, are you drunk?” the kapten was even more confused, “and since when did you speak Ukrainian?” It was going to be another one of those nights.
“Na tvayu li na priyatnu krasotu,
na tvayo li da na byeloye litso ...
Tý pastoi, pastoi, krasavitsa maya,
dozvol naglyadyet'sya, radost', na tibya!”
“Will you guys stop singing already?” she linked arms with As`Zaman and pulled him toward the gate, “At least you’re lighter than that clod, Magnussen.”
“Krasota tvaya s uma minya svela,
issushila dobra molotsa minya!
Tý pastoi, pastoi, krasavitsa maya,
dozvol naglyadyet'sya, radost', na tibya!”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Oh my! Poor Mohammed! They...got...him...drunk! I feel sorry for him in the mooorning! So will Ali and Shakira be allowed to have a deeper relationship? I know Mohammed is very fair but I am not sure about the traditions of his tribe. I forsee problems with the developing relationship between him and Kaptan Andersen. And what will become of little Nikki I have a feeling that her role is far from over. Very interresting. I wish I could write half as well as you do.

_________________
Having more fun than a human being should be allowed to have-Rush Limbaugh
For more from Rush go here: www.rushlimbaugh.com
Still crazy after all these years.
Force of nature : :
[img]http://www.heavymetalpro.com/countries/flag-us.gif[/img]
[img]http://www.heavymetalpro.com/countries/ ... chigan.gif[/img]

you realy should try to get this published I just spent two hours reading this . absoutly wonderfull

The Blood Ember, August 11, 3038, 0430 Hours

Overste Ulfgar studied the monitor on his desk. According to the Blood Ember’s sensors, the pirate dropship assumed a position in orbit for several hours and now it was returning to the surface. The Friherre had considered sounding an alert but it appeared the pirate dropship was on the proper course to set down in the vast Southern Plains –where visiting dropships are required to land.
He tapped a key, “Bridge, this is Overste Ulfgar.”
“Bridge.”
“Let me know if the inbound dropship deviates on its course.”

0600 Hours

The alarm sounded and Mohammed Bey opened one eye. He had woken up an hour earlier but the room was still spinning then. The clock was on his desk, out of reach –this forced him to roll out of his bunk and cross the cramped room to turn the annoying buzzer off. The clouds in his head cleared suddenly, although his mouth tasted as if a herd of camels had ridden over his tongue. He noted that he was still dressed in his Kozak uniform, although somebody had removed his soft, red boots. He laughed as he stood up and headed to the latrine.


Mess Hall, 0630 Hours

“I’m surprised to see you up this early,” commented Kapten Anderssen. She placed her tray on the table and sat down, “how do you feel?”
“Me? I feel fine,” replied As`Zaman, “but I was famished this morning.” He wolfed down a buttered roll and washed it down with cocoa.
“You feel fine –after last night?” asked Britt, “After all you drank last night?”
Mohammed Bey gave her a dismissive wave, “The Kozakii held a wake and we toasted the men we buried. We drank out of these tiny silver cups.” He made a size image with his thumb and index finger.
“Oh, really? Just how many toasts did you make?” asked the officer.
As`Zaman rubbed his chin, “Between forty and fifty, I suppose.” He gathered up his napkin and tossed it on his tray, “I got your message –when do you want to give the presentation?” He stood up and took his tray.
Anderssen looked at him, partially in disbelief, partially in envy. “Didn’t you hear? The pirate dropship returned early this morning –the Friherre probably won’t be available until this afternoon.” She stopped the teen before he turned to leave, “By the way, you didn’t tell me you spoke Ukrainian.”
“The pirates? What are they doing?”
“According to the people monitoring transmissions,” said Anderssen, “they are requesting asylum.” She grabbed his sleeve, “You didn’t answer my other question - you didn’t tell me you spoke Ukrainian.”
“That’s because I don’t speak Ukrainian,” he said before he walked to the exit.

Lojtnant Ragnar Altmark stopped Mohammed Bey in the corridor, “Excuse me, Kapten As`Zaman,” he said, “could you please come to my office?”
The teen nodded, “Certainly, I have time.” He followed the tall, broad-shouldered officer to the lift, “Is this important?”
“Not critical,” said Altmark, “but we do have a slight problem.” He stepped into the lift, “How has far your research gotten?”
“On finding the Star League cache?” asked Mohammed Bey, “Not very far, just a few samples with no solid leads.” He entered the lift and turned to face the doors, “The other people monitoring the various shops and markets haven’t reported yet.”
“Well, I received a report yesterday,” said the lojtnant, “some of our techs have reported tools missing and a couple of the items have been found in the markets.”
As`Zaman was caught by surprise, “Somebody have been taking items from this dropship?” He frowned, “Has anything important been stolen?”
“No, nothing important,” replied Altmark. The doors slid open and he made his way to his office, followed by Mohammed Bey, “but it is a nuisance.” He paused at the door of his office, “Our security cameras managed to catch the thief in the act.” He opened the door, walked into the office and took his place at his desk, “Have a seat, Kapten.”
“That’s good,” said As`Zaman, “have you caught him?” He sat down in the extra chair.
The officer activated his monitor and turned the screen to face the teen, “As you can see, this is why I have brought this issue to you.”
Mohammed Bey’s eyes widened –the image on the screen was from a security camera recording and it clearly showed Nikki casually walking along a ramp between mechbays, looking around carefully and removing a tool from one of the many utility carts. She then dropped the item into the knapsack she always carried and walked away. “I can’t believe it.” He looked at Lojtnant Altmark, “have you detained her?”
Altmark shook his head, “The Friherre let me handle this matter.”
“I see,” said the teen, “and you’ll allow me to set Nikki straight.”
The lojtnant nodded.
“Thank you very much,” said As`Zaman, “I shall take care of it.”
He was about to stand when Altmark motioned for him to remain seated, “I have more for you to look at.” The lojtnant reached down and pulled a drawer open, “One of our people brought these in.” He dropped a stack of a dozen, thin, soft-cover books onto the desk.
Mohammed Bey picked one of the slim books and thumbed through it, “Basic Lessons in Standard,” he commented, “Published by Comstar –this book is seven years old.” He looked at the officer, “Distributed by the Explorer Corps.”
“Yes,” said Altmark, “according to the locals, they stop by here every six months or so and drop off new training literature.”
As`Zaman nodded, and picked up another book, “Generator repair –this is good intel but at the moment, I can’t figure out its value.”
“Kapten As`Zaman,” said Altmark, he lowered his voice and leaned forward, “I’m the intelligence officer of this unit and I have access to a lot of secure information.”
The teen nodded.
“I monitor security camera information throughout this vessel,” he told the youth, “and while it isn’t my business, I have to warn you about your relationship with Kapten Anderssen. I am not the only officer to have access to security camera information.”
Mohammed Bey frowned, “I see…”
“As I said,” whispered the officer, “it isn’t my business but Lojtnant Magnussen can be a dangerous man if crossed and he has an unhealthy interest in Kapten Anderssen.”
“I can handle Magnussen,” said As`Zaman.
“I’m giving you a warning,” said Altmark, “the lojtnant has gotten away with things that would have gotten other men jailed –the Friherre is his cousin.”
Mohammed Bey let the information soak in, “Thank you for the warning –by the way, where is Magnussen?”
Altmark smirked and leaned closer, “He’s been a regular customer at the Golden Phoenix.”
“At the inn?” wondered As`Zaman, “Why would he hang out there? The food is good but not that good.”
The lojtnant smiled, “You don’t know about the back –they run a house of prostitution there.”

0800 Hours

“When did she leave?” asked Mohammed Bey. He stripped off his riding coat and opened his equipment locker.
Shakira thought for a few seconds, “Perhaps an hour ago, on the shuttle.”
“Alone?” The teen was not happy. He slipped the linen blouse from his shoulders and put on his cooling vest.
“The shuttles always have a dozen or so passengers, my Bey,” replied the servant, “Nikki will be alright.”
“Ali!” shouted As`Zaman, “take a full inventory of your tool box.” He climbed up the ladder to the upper catwalk and opened the hatch, “I’ll be back when I get back.”

Ali and Shakira watched as the Mongoose trotted down the ramp and out of the dropship. The light battlemech seemed to fly over the snow-covered plain.
“Did you get a chance to ask him?” whispered Shakira.
Ali sighed, “I did,” he turned to hug her, “he said he would think about it.”


Seville Valley, 0845 Hours

The shuttle plowed its way toward Seville Valley, making decent time for a tracked vehicle. The driver saw the reflection of the Mongoose growing in his rear view mirror and pulled to the side to allow the speeding machine room to pass.
“This is As`Zaman,” said the teen over the radio, “no need to yield so much room –I can manage.” He pushed the Mongoose past the shuttle and continued on to Seville Valley.
“My Bey, this is Ali.”
“Go ahead, Ali,” responded Mohammed Bey. He slowed his battlemech as he approached the gate to the valley. Unlike the fortress of Novo Zaporozhye, Seville Valley had a simple fence to keep the horses from straying and a quaint guard shack with a lift gate. The carabiniere in his greatcoat snapped to attention and his aide lifted the gate.
“My Bey,” reported Ali, “one of my hand meters is missing.”
The teen sighed, “Thank you, Ali.” He halted his machine near the market square and opened the top hatch.

0930 Hours

Mohammed Bey sat across from Nikki and hefted the knapsack, “You have been busy.”
The girl sat quietly and shrugged. They found a small café on the ground floor of one of the buildings that surrounded the market square.
The teen opened the knapsack, reached into it and pulled out several items, “Where did you get these?” He picked up a hand meter and pointed at an etched number, “This belongs to Ali.”
The girl shrugged, “I found them.”
“I know you found them, Nikki,” he said, “but you don’t just take things just because nobody’s around.”
“I donnt?” she asked, as if the word was foreign, “but that is how it is.”
“What?” As`Zaman was not prepared for such a reply, “If I place my glove here and you know the glove is mine, wouldn’t it be wrong to take it?”
“I would not take your glove, uncle,” she said.
“You took Ali’s meter,” said Mohammed Bey, “he uses it to keep my battlemech operating properly –you do understand that, don’t you?”
The girl nodded, “It is wrong to take Uncle Ali’s tools.”
As`Zaman frowned, “No, dear, it is wrong to take anybody’s tools.” He tapped the other items, “This one is clearly marked and belongs to one of the Blood Ember’s technicians.”
Nikki looked at the marking, “Is it wrong to take those too?”
The teen nodded, “Yes, it is very wrong to take something that isn’t yours.”
“But why do they leave them?” asked Nikki, “If they had value…”
As`Zaman interrupted her, “Inside the Blood Ember, the people work together and do not take something that isn’t theirs.” He pulled an old book from the knapsack, “Is this mine?”
“No, uncle,” she replied.
He opened the book and flipped through the pages, “This is a collection of Baudelaire’s works, in French.” He looked at her, “Where did you get this?” The same Terran Hegemony publisher that printed the book he had bought days earlier produced it.
“I found it,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the table.
Mohammed Bey sighed and signaled for a waiter.


The Blood Ember, 1100 Hours

Kapten Anderssen adjusted the microphone and placed her notes on the podium. She looked out over the assembled soldiers, technicians and crew in the lower hold of the Blood Ember and took a breath before she began her announcement. “Please stand at ease,” she said in her usual, even-toned voice. “The Friherre is busy at the moment so I shall be reading the day’s business.” She looked over her notes, “Due to numerous complaints, the Golden Phoenix Inn is now off limits to all personnel –any of you who may have ordered ‘The Special’ should report to Sick Bay at your convenience.” She noted that several of the men turned to look at each other; “For those of you who make it out to the markets, please keep an eye out for tools and other equipment that might be from vessel inventories…”

1130 Hours

“…Don’t forget to drink plenty of fluids and dress in layers,” concluded Anderssen, “Attention! The next formation for those on duty shall be at sixteen hundred hours. Check your schedules –Dismissed!”


Southern Plains, 1130 Hours

The twenty-five ton Mongoose loped over the snowdrifts on its way back to the Blood Ember. Mohammed Bey looked out over the white landscape –bleak and barren for almost a hundred kilometers. Fortunately, his navigational equipment easily homed in on the steady transmission from the Blood Ember’s omnidirectional beacon. Behind him, in the stowage space of his battlemech, Nikki had curled up wrapped in a thermal blanket. Designed for long-range missions, the Star League designed Mongoose boasted of an unusually spacious storage area that could hold cases of rations, tanks of filtered water as well as rebreather equipment for hostile environments. In a pinch, the storage area could squeeze in two adults or allow a nine-year-old child to sleep in comfort.
“Blood Ember, this is Mongoose.”
“Mongoose, Blood Ember –go ahead Kaptain As`Zaman.”
“Blood Ember –say status of the pirate dropship,” inquired the teen.
“Mongoose, stand by.”
Mohammed Bey slowed his mount when his sensors indicated a slow-moving shuttle in his path. He took his time and passed the vehicle, taking time to have his battlemech give the shuttle a friendly wave with its massive right hand.
“Mongoose, several of the men and women aboard the dropship Guillemot have been granted asylum,” reported the dispatcher, “as of this moment, the dropship and its crew haven’t made any decisions.”
“Blood Ember, please relay the Guillemot’s frequency to me.”


The Blood Ember, 1400 Hours

“You hired the pirate’s dropship?” Tanaka looked at Mohammed Bey as if he had lost his mind. They stood on the catwalk overlooking the massive mech repair bay that housed the Mongoose.
“The jumpship, as well,” replied As`Zaman, “Both are in very good shape, considering…” He smiled as he observed Ali run his routine diagnostics.
“Considering that they were pirates,” reminded Tanaka.
“No, they never actively engaged in piracy,” said the teen, “they were a neutral conveyance.”
“But…”
“And it is well within my power, as a representative of Kahman Mercantile, to hire these seasoned crews and their vessels,” announced Mohammed Bey, “at standard Inner Sphere salaries.”
“Standard?”
“Yes, standard.”
Tanaka shook her head, “Do these crews know that standard salaries are doubled when out in the Periphery?”
“No, they don’t,” chuckled As`Zaman, “but they happily signed the contracts anyway.”

“My Bey,” called Shakira. She hurried from the lift, “Nikki seems to be running a mild fever.”
As`Zaman and Tanaka looked at each other and headed for the lift. “I’ll take her to Sick Bay,” said the teen, his voice calm, “make certain Ali takes a break and has dinner on time.”
“Yes, my Bey.”


Sick Bay, 1415 Hours

Kapten Reese sat at his desk and looked at the parts of his disassembled smoking pipe. It had been an unusually busy day and he had little time to relax when it occurred to him that he needed to change his pipe filter. Once he had taken his favorite pipe apart he decided to give the old briar a good cleaning, “Drat,” he muttered, his hand tapped the intercom, “Wilkins, please get in here.”
The door opens, “Yes, doctor?”
“There you are,” said Resse, “could you go to Supply and get me a package of pipe cleaners?”
“Pipe cleaners, sir?” asked the orderly. “Sir, we have over a dozen patients waiting for you sir.”
The Kapten rolled his eyes, gathered the pieces of his disassembled pipe and dropped them into the pocket of his lab coat, “Right…” He stood up, “I still need these items as well.” He handed a list to Wilkins, who turned and left.

Mohammed Bey entered the Waiting Room, holding Nikki’s hand, “Goodness, look at this crowd today –it must be some nasty bug going around.” He counted at least a dozen crewmen and technicians glumly waiting for the doctor to call them in for examination. He signed in and found a corner, seating the child on his lap.
Kapten Reese opened the door and looked at the sign-in sheet, “Karlsson.” He pulled on a fresh pair of protective gloves with a loud snap. One of the men waiting shuffled into the examination room.
“Busy today,” commented As`Zaman, he wanted to make idle chatter in order to keep Nikki calm.
The tech next to him nodded, “Yeah, it looks like we all spent too much time at the Golden Phoenix.”
“Ah,” said the teen, “I was there the first night we got here.”
“Really?” The men around him seemed very surprised.
“I consider myself a connoisseur, actually,” smiled Mohammed Bey, “but as they say about Chinese, a half an hour later, you’re ready for more.”
Some of those listening in blinked in disbelief while others shook their heads.

The orderly returned with a large box in his arms and placed it on the counter. He then returned to his seat and attended to some paperwork.
Kapten Reese stepped from the examination room and removed his gloves. Karlsson, still looking dejected, followed him. “Alrighty…” said the doctor; he took up a clipboard and pen, “All of you who are here because of this morning’s announcement, please pay attention.” He adjusted his glasses and held up the clipboard, “Make a note if you have these symptoms, “Fever, lethargy, lack of appetite, painful urination, redness or swelling, unusual cankers or sores…”
One of the crewmen raised a hand.
“Yes? Do you have a question?” Doctor Reese peered over the top of his glasses.
“Aye, sir I do,” replied the man, “I have all of those symptoms… What disease do I have?” Several of the other men nodded and mumbled in agreement.
“Right…” said the Kapten, “Well, when I was attending the Academy of Clinical Medicine at New Avalon…” A few of the men listening rolled their eyes. “You wouldn’t really know the proper Greek name but I happen to have a list of common Inner Sphere terms: In the Federated Suns, it is known as Capellan Bone-ache; in Steiner space, they call it Dragon Scale or Snakebite; among the DCMS solders, its called Lyran Fist Syndrome; among the Capellans it has two names: FedRot and the Purple Bird.” He turned the page, “Universally among those who travel the Periphery, it is sometimes called the Canopian Souvenir or Taurian Hoof and Mouth Disease.” None of these names made any of the men feel better…
Nikki looked up and said, “You forgot the Valkyrate Itch and Grimm’s Malady.”
“Why, thank you, miss…” The doctor wrote the new entries down then looked at Nikki, “Uhm… why are you here, young lady?” The other men in the room perked up because they too wanted to hear her answer.
“She’s with me and just has a slight fever,” replied Mohammed Bey, “but none of those other symptoms.” The men let out a simultaneous sigh of relief at this response.
“That is right,” chimed Nikki, “these others probably went to the whorehouse behind the Golden Phoenix.” The other patients suddenly turned away in embarrassment, cleared their throats and grabbed magazines to read.
“Well, I guess that’s good news for you, eh?” The doctor’s attention strayed to the box that Wilkins brought in, “Right… I guess we’ll have to wait until the blood test results are back.” He pulled several small pill filled bottles from the box, “Each of you men take two of these pills every four hours and drink plenty of fluids –and I really mean water, not beer, mead or liquor.” He picked up a package and opened it, “Ah, here we are, pipe cleaners!” Needless to say, several pairs of eyes got very wide. One man fainted.

1500 Hours

“I am so sorry about the confusion,” said Kapten Reese. He puffed happily at his pipe and handed Nikki a stick of candy, “Here you are, dear.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the girl. She slyly turned and placed the candy in her pocket.
“Think nothing of it, doctor,” said Mohammed Bey, he placed the bottle of prescribed pills in his pocket, “and I’ll make certain Nikki gets one of these every eight hours.”


The Guillemot August 12, 3038, 0830 Hours

“Everything seems to be in order,” said Mohammed Bey, “I shall have the Friherre transfer suitable rations and other supplies to this vessel,” he turned to the crew, “Have the spare Warhammer parts taken to the Blood Ember.”
“Yes Kapten As`Zaman,” said Dorek Rejda, the dropship’s captain and owner. He motioned for the crew to get to work.
“Captain Rejda, I have a question,” said As`Zaman, “what was the reason that you returned?”
The middle aged pilot looked at the teen, “We were already on half rations when we got here –we’d be starving by the time we arrived anywhere else and we only had a couple of fighting vehicles left.” He shook his head, “The soldiers held a council, some shots were fired, and they came to an agreement.”
“I am still amazed that Novo Zaporozhye took them all in,” commented the youth.
Captain Rejda replied, “I am not surprised –the Kozakii are known to open their gates to anyone who asks for sanctuary, provided they are willing to work or fight,” He shivered slightly, “and the Raiders have been getting more aggressive lately.”
“Other pirates?” asked Mohammed Bey.
“Oh, no,” responded the captain, “Raiders are not ordinary pirates –they are very well equipped with what looks like new battlemechs, they attack certain settlements without reason, warning others to stay away.” He pulled cigarette case from his pocket and placed a cigarette between his lips, “They kill everyone, destroy everything –pirates merely shear their sheep and leave, only to return when it is shearing time again.”
“So, who are these Raiders?” asked the teen, “Are the from one of the Houses?”
Rejda shook his head and lit his cigarette, “None of the Houses are that inhuman.” He took a long drag and exhaled, “They kill men, women, children and the animals –I’ve seen the results of one of their raids.” He ran a hand over his eyes, “They tortured everyone –even the children, in order to locate any that might have fled.”


North Farm, 1030 Hours

The shuttle trundled to a halt and the pneumatic door swung open. Mohammed Bey stepped out onto the dead grass and looked around. This valley was fairly narrow, perhaps only two kilometers across but he could see that the rising walls stretched back toward the mountain range, perhaps five kilometers distant. The teen suddenly wished that he had ridden his horse instead of walking –he still wore the Kozak Sotnik’s uniform and he swaggered as he marched along.
Newly mown wheat fields covered the level floor of the valley as he made his way toward the back. The haze was thick this morning; the low layer of clouds cast a dull gray glow over everything. He could make out a collection of weathered clapboard buildings similar to the dwellings he saw on Verthandi, “Could this be a collection of refugee Rasalhaguers?” wondered the teen. He could see thin wisps of smoke coming from several chimneys dissipating in the wind.

As`Zaman recalled the report from the harvesters; North Farm raised wheat, oats and barley, various livestock and produced well above average when compared to the other valleys. Sergeant Amnegard led the combine team and filed the report: Nothing unusual.
A kilometer into the valley, Mohammed Bey could hear the muffled drone of power generators as well as hammering and the sound of power equipment. Encouraged, he quickened his step. As he advanced, he could see more buildings, a barn and what appeared to be grain silos. Despite the sound of activity, there seemed to be nobody outside. When he reached the buildings he could see a pair of shuttles, three heavy hauling vehicles and a couple of small ground cars.
“Good morning!”
The youth turned to where the voice originated and he saw a simply dressed man standing in the door of one of the houses. “Oh, good morning.” He bowed, somewhat relieved that he wasn’t accused of sneaking around. “I am looking for somebody named Albert.”
“The head of our council? Please follow me,” said the stranger. He turned and headed in the direction of what looked like a barn, “My name is Neal.”
“I am Sotnik As`Zaman. This is the first time I have visited your valley,” said As`Zaman, trying to be friendly, “I see you have completed your harvest.”
“Indeed, the visitors helped us complete our fields in record time, said the guide. He arrived at the building and opened the smaller access door, “This way, please.”

Mohammed Bey stepped through the door into a brightly lit warehouse. He could see dozens of men and women in simple work clothes busy repairing large cargo vehicles. A man at an industrial lathe turned a piston for a twenty-cylinder engine. The engine itself was affixed to a massive stand. Considering how open the valley was, he saw that nobody carried any weapons. He patiently waited for a couple of minutes and smiled when Neal returned with a middle-aged man wearing gray coveralls.
“Hello, my name is Albert,” said the man, “what may I do for you?”
The teen bowed, “I am Sotnik As`Zaman.” He unbuttoned his silk brocade coat and pulled out an aged book. “I found this at the Seville Valley open market,” he told Albert, “I am looking for the rest of this set.”
The man took the book and examined it, “What makes you believe that the rest could be found here? We have little use for books not printed in Standard.” He handed it back to Mohammed Bey.
The teen pulled another book from his cloak, “According to my friend, Nikki, she obtained this copy from here as well.”
The man frowned, “Oh, and how is little Nikki?”
“She had a slight fever this morning,” replied the youth, “our doctor is treating her and she should be fine.”
“That is good to hear,” said Albert, “she hasn’t been around lately and some of us have begun to worry.”
“I am sure you have,” commented Mohammed Bey.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

North Farm, August 12, 3038, 1200 Hours

“Nikki’s parents were at another settlement when the Raiders struck,” said Albert, “that was over five years ago. Nikki wound up here soon after.”
“Raiders? This is the second time I have heard them mentioned,” said the teen, “What can you tell me about them?”
The man shrugged, “I know of nobody who has ever seen them –from what I’ve heard, they are a particularly savage band of pirates.”
“That isn’t much to go on,” As`Zaman frowned and sipped his tea, “So, nobody’s raising her?” He looked at Albert, “If none of the families here wants to take her in, would anyone oppose it if I offered to adopt her?” The two men sat at in a simple office. On the desk sat a large box filled with old books.
“That is very generous of you,” said Albert, “but you would have a difficult time –the child is almost feral.”
“Had somebody taken her in,” growled Mohammed Bey, “she’d be a normal child right now.” He tapped the table with a finger to emphasize his point, “You don’t suggest that I leave her here to continue living on the streets?”
Albert nodded, “Personally, I have no problem with you caring for Nikki,” he sipped his coffee, “but I would like you to pose that question to Nikki and let her decide.” He thought for a moment, “If she chooses to go with you, she might want to come back and take some of the things she has stuffed away in the corner of the storehouse where she slept.”
“That is agreeable,” said the teen, he stood up and looked through the box, “I would also like to thank you for this gift –I shall have to find a suitable gift in return.”
“I am glad you appreciate those books,” replied Albert, “I had totally forgotten about them sitting in that storage closet.”
“It appears that Nikki found this box a few months ago and began selling them at the various markets,” commented As`Zaman, “I am impressed by the books in this collection but at the same time, I am disappointed –I was hoping for a treasure trove.”
“Oh, that,” chuckled the man, “every once in a while somebody comes around looking for a fabled SLDF cache hidden in one of the valleys.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “I’m sure that is a nuisance.” He picked up the box and bowed, “Once again, thank you.”
Albert stood up and followed the youth out the door, “I will have one of the men drop you off where you can wait for the next shuttle.”

1330 Hours

The tracked shuttle cruised along the path that connected the valleys, its bulldozer blade easily pushing the accumulated snow aside. Mohammed Bey looked through the box of ancient books, “Dumas, Flaubert, Hugo, Villon,” he read some of the titles aloud; “I have several months’ worth of quality reading here.” He sighed and looked out the window, the weather would be getting worse –they would auction off the industrial mechs to the highest bidders, fill their cargo holds and leave in a week’s time. There were two more systems to explore before they returned to the Inner Sphere.

Albert summoned the North Farm Council and stood among them as well as other members of their community. “Please forgive me for calling this meeting at such short notice.”
A woman in technician’s coveralls raised her hand, “Get to the point, Mister Chair –we have half a dozen heavy tractors to have ready in the next day or so when the dropships of Bohemian Flight arrive.”
“I realize that, Elizabeth,” said Albert, “tell your crews that everything is on schedule.” He announced, “This morning a stranger showed up, a nice young man from the Sich –Nikki got caught again.” There was a stir among the assembly but Albert calmed them, “Please…” he continued, “The young man showed an interest in the box of literature that took up room in the storehouse and then asked if he could adopt Nikki.”
One of the men, a muscular brute well over two meters tall stepped forward, “What are his intentions? What if he’s just looking at selling her?” His concern was genuine.
Albert nodded, “I had a long talk with the young man, his name is Sotnik Mohammed As`Zaman Bey and he seemed unusually well educated and cultured when compared to your average valley settler.”
Another technician stepped forward, this time a male, “Did you Mohammed As`Zaman Bey?”
“Yes, Jeremy,” said Albert, “that was the young man’s name.”
“Albert,” said Jeremy, “I have been monitoring the frequencies and this Mohammed As`Zaman is not from the Sich, he is a mechwarrior from the Inner Sphere –the pilot of that Mongoose!”
The council leader’s jaw dropped, “Oh, my…”
“He’s looking for the cache!” exclaimed Elizabeth, “We can’t allow that Mongoose into this valley.”
Albert held up his hands, “Now, wait! I didn’t allow anything at all like that.”
“He has to suspect something,” said Jeremy, “he’s taken that Mongoose into almost every valley but ours.”
“We could tell him that we have underground storage tanks that cannot take the weight,” suggested the large man.
“He might believe that, Lyle,” replied Elizabeth, “but he might remember that the heavier harvest quads came through here as well.”
“Listen, I shall keep the young man away long enough,” explained Albert, “I will think of something.”


The Blood Ember, 1500 Hours

As`Zaman shouldered his box of literary treasures and walked along the shoveled path to the ramp. He looked forward to a hot meal in the mess. When he entered the dropship, he could see the crew of technicians still working on the Warhammer and the Locust captured from the pirates. Stripped down to its base framework, the Warhammer’s fusion power plant exposed, it would be a while before that machine saw action. The Locust was nearly complete –the Overste agreed that this light machine would go to Sich Zaporozhye for their part in the fight, as did one of the captured vehicles.
When he reached the mechbay that held his Mongoose, Mohammed Bey greeted Ali, who busily tended the ancient battlemech with loving care, “My brother, you should celebrate –or at least take a break.”
The technician looked up from his diagnostic equipment, “What was that, Master?” He looked puzzled. He stood up and helped As`Zaman with the load of books.
“A man that’s going to be married should relax –if that is possible,” said the teen.
Ali’s eyes grew wide, “Is that true?” He practically danced with joy, “I have to tell Shakira! Thank you, Master!” He bowed.
Mohammed Bey held up a hand, “Let me know when you want the ceremony done,” he said calmly, “now go –I can take it from here.”
“Thank you!” said Ali. He bowed a couple more times, “Thank you, Master!”
“Go already!” the teen removed his fleece hat and heavy coat then rolled up his sleeves. After Ali disappeared through the access door, he opened his locker and drew out his vest and neurohelmet.


Saint Andrew’s Plantation, 1800 Hours

The Mongoose walked slowly across the plowed field to the sharply sloped ridge. Mohammed Bey studied his various displays intently, adjusting his gains in order to get clearer readings. Satisfied, the teen saved the scanner readings and turned his battlemech around, “Blood Ember, this is Mongoose; I am inbound.”


Sich Novo Zaporozhye

Shakira walked among the lighted shopkeepers’ stalls, picking out fabric she would need to make her wedding dress. Beside her strode Nikki, who leaped at a display of Kozak dolls.
“Look, Aunt Shakira!” she pointed at one of the dolls whose ceramic face was swarthy, “That is Uncle Mohammed!”
The servant looked in amazement, “That doll sure does look like my Master.” She leaned over to Nikki, “I can buy it for you if you’d like.”
The child nodded, “Thank you, Aunt Shakira –I could hardly wait to show uncle.”
Shakira handed the shopkeeper several trade coins, “Nikki, aren’t you supposed to do something?”
“Yes, Aunt Shakira,” replied the child, “I have to catch the next shuttle to visit North Farm.” She did some figuring in her head, “Then I will return to the dropship on the last shuttle.”
“Alright,” said Shakira, “be careful and return to the Blood Ember on time.”


Mess Hall, 1930 Hours

“Is it true?” asked Tanaka.
Mohammed Bey set his tea down and looked at Leila, “Is what true?”
The young woman rolled her eyes, “Shakira was in such a hurry to make the last shuttle she almost ran over me –you gave them your permission to be married.”
“Oh, that –if Shakira told you,” said the teen, “it must be true.”
Leila smiled, “That was very nice of you.”
“Ali is a hard worker,” he said, “sometimes he works too hard. If Shakira could make him happy, it is the least I could do for him.”
“Well, Shakira had to go shopping to prepare,” said Tanaka, “she took Nikki with her –the child mentioned something about collecting her things from North Farm.”
“I swear, women look for any excuse to go shopping,” commented Mohammed Bey, “birthdays, anniversaries, getting married, having their breasts enlarged…”
Leila playfully punched his shoulder, “You! Shut up!”

Kapten Anderssen walked up to their table, “Is this seat free?”
As`Zaman stood up, “Of course, Kapten,” he motioned to the chair, “please make yourself comfortable.” Leila eyed the Rasalhagian warily but kept silent.
“I saw the report you turned in to the Overste,” commented the officer, “do you really think you’ve found something?”
Mohammed Bey set down his tea and nodded, “According to my scanners, I was able to detect the remnants of reinforced concrete and masses of metal often used in bunker construction.” He continued, “I first believed the area I scanned to be an old trash heap or even a landfill.”
“Well?” asked Tanaka, her interest piqued.
“According to the people who have lived in that valley,” replied the teen, “the slope has always been there and appears to be the result of a very old landslide.” He concluded, “It is my belief that somewhere under that slope is a portion of a Star League depot.”


The Tyrfing

Master Navigator Hrafn calculated the progress of a trio of large dropships inbound from the Nadir jump point. “Bohemian Flight, set navigation frequency, three-seven-two point five.”
“Roger, Tyrfing Control. Frequency three-seven-two point five.”
Hrafn turned to the crewman at the console beside him, “Ensign Bjorklund, let the Blood Ember know that Bohemian Flight, three dropships, is inbound, estimated eighty-five hours.” He hit the release on his restraining belt and floated from his seat, “I’m for coffee -would you like me to bring you some?”
“In a moment, sir,” said the officer, “the ship’s sensors have picked up an emergence wave…”
The Master Navigator regarded his screen and tapped his keyboard, “Where away?”
“Lagrange point number four, sir!” reported the ensign. He adjusted his sensor controls, “Do you think it’s another pirate, sir?”
Hrafn studied his monitor and enlarged the image, “That’s not one of ours –let the Friherre know that he has hostiles inbound –estimated ten hours.” He studied the small jumpship’s image and his eyes went wide –it may have been a small craft –a jury-rigged Scout with a single dropship but this craft was in pristine condition and was armed! “Raiders…” he muttered, “Tell the Overste that they are Raiders!”


The Blood Ember, 2000 hours

“I’m sorry, sir,” explained the technician, “there is no possibility of the Warhammer being ready in the next twelve hours.” His team worked feverishly trying to reassemble the battlemech but drying and recalibrating its inner components were not tasks to be rushed.
The Friherre nodded, “Just do your best.” He keyed his communicator, “Get the mobile repair vehicle to the assembly point –make the modifications as soon as possible.” Huge tractor vehicles pulling trailers rumbled down the ramp, dozens of crewmembers frantically loaded supplies onto waiting flatbeds.


Assembly Point Thule

Hetman Sirkova opened the access hatch of his Phoenix Hawk and leaned out, “Ey! Varyagi! Where do we fight?”
Sergeant Ivar Halsten returned the Hetman’s wave and shouted, “We don’t know yet!”
Kapten Anderssen keyed her microphone, “Welcome to the party, Hetman!” She motioned with one of her Trebuchet’s arms, “The Command Center will be ready in a few minutes –your presence is requested.”

Mohammed Bey stuffed some tobacco into the ceramic bowl of his pipe and puffed on it while holding burning tinder over the rim. He blew a cloud of smoke into the already gray air of the conference room.
“Is that all you can tell us about them?” asked Lojtnant Altmark.
The Hetman nodded glumly, “That is all I know,” he stood up, “if they are Raiders, I have to return to the Sich.”
“What?” Kapten Anderssen stood up as well, “If the Raiders are that dangerous, we need all the help we can muster.”
The elder halted, “You don’t understand,” Sirkova pointed at the map on the table, “the Raiders shall pick one of the settlements for destruction and will do the same to anyone who dares to help them.” He picked up his neural helmet and headed to the door, “I have to organize the Sich defenses.”

As`Zaman followed the Hetman out of the room and across the busy Assembly Point, “Don’t you know of anyone who has witnessed a Raider attack?”
Sirkova stopped to face the youth, “Gavrilo,” he whispered, “but he might not wish to talk about it.” He watched as a crew loaded machineguns and missile launchers onto one of the industrial quadmechs, “You people are mad.”
“Gavrilo,” muttered Mohammed Bey, “he’ll talk to me.” The teen headed to his Mongoose.

Sich Novo Zaporozhye, 2100 hours

“No!” shouted the old man, “Don’t ask me again.”
“Please, Gavrilo,” urged Mohammed Bey, “We need any kind of information that will help us fight them.” He had found Gavrilo’s small hut and roused the old Kozak from his sleep. “Tell me what you know.”
“I have nothing for you, young Sotnik,” said Gavrilo, “go away.” He sat on his cot and covered his eyes.
As`Zaman bowed his head, “Very well,” he stopped at the door and looked at the gray-bearded elder, “In a few hours, me and my friends will be fighting, perhaps dying in defense of people we do not know.”
“Wait!” Gavrilo stood up, “Fetch me a pail of medovukha (vodka) from Sheptytsky’s Inn –and I will tell you all I know.”

Mohammed Bey pounded on the door. His gloved hand gripped the handle of a wooden bucket filled with steaming liquid. “Gavrilo, open the door!” He heard the bolt clatter and stepped in from the cold, “Huh, the temperature is really dropping!”
Gavrilo bowed and took the bucket in his wrinkled hands, “Bless you, my son, bless you!” He placed the bucket on his stove, made the sign of the cross and hefted the container to his lips.
The teen winced as he watched the old man gulp down the liquor, “Hey, watch that –I want answers that I can use.”
“Ahhhh!” Gavrilo made a face and sat on his cot, “That’s better!”
“Tell me about what you saw,” said As`Zaman.
Gavrilo took another long gulp from the wooden pail and set it down on the floor. His face suddenly looked very old and tired as he gazed at the wall. “It was twenty-three years ago when I went on a trade mission to a system twelve jumps coreward…”
Mohammed Bey nodded; he had set his communicator to record.
“I was there for a week and stayed at a cheap inn while waiting for the deal to be signed,” recalled the old man, “One night, there was a sudden attack –we didn’t have somebody tracking arrivals so the Raiders were on the ground with minimal warning.
“In the confusion, I dressed and ran into the forest.”
“Didn’t you see anything?” asked the teen.
Gavrilo held up a hand, “Like any soldier, I moved toward the sound of fighting.” He bent over and picked up the pail of liquor, raised it to his lips and poured more down his throat. He placed the bucket on the floor, belched and continued his tale, “The Raiders had cordoned off a small village two kilometers from the town. I managed to get close enough to recognize several battlemechs.”
“Yes, go on,” urged Mohammed Bey, “what type of battlemechs?”
“A few of them were familiar –Locusts, a Hunchback…but they were different,” said the veteran, “not like in the identification manuals.” He then shrugged, “There were at least three battlemechs that I could not recognize at all.”
“Do you think that was because they were damaged and repaired often?” inquired the teen.
“No, that was something unusual,” said Gavrilo, he scratched his beard, “These machines looked like they were fresh from the factory –newly painted and everything.”
The youth frowned at that suggestion, “What about markings? Do you think they were from a House military?”
“I snuck in close –close enough to one of the battlemechs to see what looked like a gray panther, leaping,” Gavrilo shook his head, “I could hear people screaming –men, women and children. There was resistance –I saw at least a couple of shoulder-launched missiles strike the Raider’s machines but I had to move away when they started to level the village.” He looked at Mohammed Bey, “No House would go so far to commit such a cruel and meaningless act in anonymity –a Great House would make certain everyone knew who did it and why.”


Assembly Point Thule, August 13, 0100 Hours

Friherre Bödvar Ulfgar listened to the recording Kapten As`Zaman had turned in for the third time, hoping he could extract something useful. He examined the unit display above the coordination console –his forces were meager, facing an undetermined foe. “Anderssen, the Trebuchet; Magnussen, his Panther; As`Zaman, his Mongoose; Tanaka, the Jenner; I will have my Hunchback…” He went over the list of quads and assigned the pilots.
Lojtnant Ragnar Altmark entered the Command Center, “Sir, you should get some rest.” He looked at the assignment board, “I’ll take the Combine fitted with the heavy autocannon.”
The Overste nodded, “I’m sorry the Warhammer couldn’t be ready in time.”
“I can wait,” said the junior officer, “It looks like all the settlements have sealed up and are defending themselves.”
Ulfgar shook his head, “They’re all terrified, especially when nobody knows who is going to be the target –I just don’t understand the randomness.”
“What is the trajectory so far?” asked Altmark.
The Friherre called up a display, “Fortunately, the Guillemot is in position and now relays information on the Raiders’ dropship.” He called up a map, “According to the computer models, the Overlord-class dropship should land about eighty kilometers from Saint Andrew’s Plantation,” he highlighted the path that joined the various valleys, “but if they follow the path that joins the valleys, they could reach any of the settlements within a few hours’ travel.”
The Lojtnant regarded the map for a moment, “So far, the Raiders haven’t deviated from their course and I don’t see a reason why they would.”
Ulfgar rubbed his eyes, “From what information I’ve collected, the Raiders will announce their intentions only after they’ve landed.”
“Where did you get that information?” asked the lojtnant.
“From Master Navigator Hrafn,” replied the Overste, “although I believe he may know even more.”
Altmark cursed under his breath, “If we could only use our aerospace…”
“The turbulence above a thousand meters makes it far too dangerous,” reminded Ulfgar,
“the constant winds from the north over the mountain range cause it –even dropships have difficulty landing.” He pointed at the probable path of approach, “Our fighters would have a hard time flying so close to the valley ridges and spurs.”


The Guillemot, 0430 Hours

“Affirmative, Blood Ember,” reported Captain Dorek Rejda, “we have detected a navigational beacon on the ground; one-two-seven kilometers, bearing zero-three-five.”
“Other than the Raider craft,” responded the watch officer at the Blood Ember’s bridge, “we have nothing.”
Rejda’s eyes narrowed, “I suspect the Raiders have an operative on the ground –relay this information to the Command Center.”


Sich Novo Zaporozhye

Hetman Sirkova opened an eye and reached to his console to tap a key, “Sirkova.”
The speaker blurted, “Hetman, the Head of the North Farm Council wishes to speak with you.”
“Da, da…” muttered the veteran, still half asleep, “connect him.”
The deep voice of Head Councilman Albert brought the Kozak leader to full alertness, “Please pardon the inopportune time of this call, worthy Hetman,” he began, “I will get to the point –The Raiders are heading to North Farm.”
Sirkova practically jumped from his seat, “The Raiders? How do you know?”
“I just know,” said Albert, “Our Council knows what the Raiders intend but I shall ask –would you honor the Kozak law of accepting any who seek refuge?”
The Hetman was silent for a moment, weighing the Honor of his settlement against the possible wrath of the Raiders. “The Sich welcomes all who seek refuge,” he said, “but you must get to the Sich on your own.”
“We shall send you our non-combatants aboard heavy haulers,” replied Albert, a tone of relief in his voice, “they will have escorts.”
“We shall make the preparations to take them in,” said Sirkova.
Albert felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders, “Thank you, Hetman.”
The Hetman switched to another frequency, “Contact Assembly Point Thule –immediately!”


Assembly Point Thule

“According to the Guillemot,” said Mohammed Bey, “the Raiders are only a lance and a half, moving very slowly –they may be heavies.” He waited for Tanaka’s Jenner to fall into formation and pushed his own battlemech forward, “Set your speed at ninety and tell North Farm the cavalry is on the way!”
“Speed ninety,” replied Tanaka, “maintaining lateral separation.” She looked at her six o’clock monitor and saw the industrial quads, now bristling with assorted weapons, trudging along the path like a swarm of huge yellow insects.
“From our estimates,” said As`Zaman, “our force should be in place about an hour before the Raiders arrive.” He chuckled, “They will be in for a surprise.”
“Is it true that North Farm originally refused our help?” asked Leila.
“That’s true,” replied the teen, “I’m glad they came to their senses.” He adjusted his sensor settings, “It looks like we’ll be fighting at dawn.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

North Farm, August 13, 3038, 0900 Hours

The clouds were black, ragged and low. The winds whipped through the valley, gusting fiercely and swirling the accumulated snow. Overste Bödvar Ulfgar adjusted the settings of his display. The dense overcast interfered with sensor information transmitted from the Guillemot, which maintained its station in low orbit. Despite the interference, he easily tracked the hostile unit’s movement. Ulfgar was concerned since he did not know the enemy’s strength –both As`Zaman and Tanaka volunteered to make visual contact with the advancing force but he knew how fragile light battlemechs were and he did not want to risk them.
North Farm was one of the deeper valleys and the settlers chose to construct their buildings unusually far from the wide mouth. Three hauling vehicles, each weighing fifty tons, crawled from the collected buildings to the mouth of the valley and to the path that led to the offered safety of Sich Novo Zaporozhye. Aboard one of the haulers, a young girl clutching a Kozak doll tried to shout through a narrowly cracked window as the lumbering vehicle passed a Mongoose battlemech, her voice drowned out by the roar of the hauler’s engine and lost in the blowing wind.

As with the other valleys, North Farm’s cultivated fields or orchards used most of the available level ground. Dense woods covered most of the sloping valley walls and occasional spur or hill. For the most part, North Farm had only a few geographical features –these easily hid the defending battlemechs as well as the eight industrial quadrupeds fitted with weapons. Upon the insistence of the Council Leader, Albert, the defenders were to avoid the built-up areas –their hastily raised militia would fight to the last to preserve their homes, property and stored wealth. Friherre Bödvar wanted to have the volunteers fight alongside his battlemechs but the North Farm Council would not discuss the matter –they even tried to convince the Friherre that his force should not risk their lives defending the doomed settlement.

Mohammed Bey monitored his sensors as his battlemech moved to his assigned position –they were all on passive settings and the enemy not yet in range. He received the same satellite feed from the Guillemot and pondered what kind of machines the defenders would encounter. He too wondered why they moved so slowly –the people in the Command Center guessed that their may be one or two slow-moving battlemechs in the enemy’s force. He nervously adjusted his gloves, hoping that the enemy force was not too heavy –that would make the fight a bloody one. From his position among a stand of thick conifers, he could barely see across the valley. Orienting his map overlay, he relayed his information to the Command Center. The mouth of North Farm opened to the South, the Mongoose stood in its forward position next to the Western Ridge. On his sensor display, he could detect Tanaka’s Jenner across the valley, also hidden among the dense woods and further concealed behind a rise.

Leila Tanaka ran the possible scenarios in her head repeatedly –keep speed up, fire at medium range or closer, look for attacks against the enemy’s thinner rear armor. Like many battlemech pilots, she hated the tense wait before a fight. She kept an eye on the display transmitted from the Guillemot as the enemy closed, they moved so slowly… The Overste had ordered radio silence and Tanaka really wanted to talk to somebody, to discuss tactics –anything to dispel the pre-battle anxiety she always felt.

Lojtnant Wilfred Magnussen’s Panther knelt behind a low rise near the Eastern Ridge. Like the others, he could not visually make out the approaching enemy as they moved closer at what seemed a snail’s pace. Like his fellow Tyr Regiment veterans, he hated relying on purely sensors –he needed to see his target as he lined his aiming pipper over it before he squeezed the trigger. Despite piloting a light battlemech, he hoped at least one of the Raiders was a heavy rating –he would pressure his cousin into an upgrade that he deserved. He also wanted to see that show-off teenager get what he deserved. Although impressed by the Arkab youth’s performance, Magnussen considered the last fight as pure luck –nobody fires at a light machine when there are heavier targets threatening you.

The Trebuchet stood in the middle of the valley floor, behind a small hill. Kapten Britt Anderssen calmly observed the enemy images as they closed. From her vantage point standing behind a hill, she could rake the Raider battlemechs at range as they closed. Ever cool and thoughtful, she noted the ranges where she would engage her targets and when the utility quadruped machines would join the fight –they will be a surprise.

In his kneeling Hunchback, Overste Friherre Bödvar Ulfgar rested his eyes for a moment, knowing that he would not even start his reactor until the Raiders had gotten within range of his heavy autocannon. He could do nothing other than hope that his people stuck to the plan –let none of the Raiders get to the collection of buildings near the back of the valley. If everything went according to plan, the light battlemechs would allow the Raiders to pass through the midpoint of the valley. The enemy would then detect the lone Trebuchet and close to engage. Tanaka and As`Zaman would race up behind the enemy and make their attacks as Magnussen and the utility machines joined the battle from either side of the valley. Now, if the enemy only cooperated…

Lojtnant Ragnar Altmark ran the cockpit heater, its ports aimed at his feet as he monitored his radio for the signal to start his engine. Its harvest blades removed, the bright yellow, seventy-five ton utility quad Altmark piloted had a heavy autocannon mounted in its right torso, a long-range missile launcher in its left torso and three heavy machineguns. The lojtnant’s main worry was the thin armor his machine possessed –much of it hastily added by crews working around the clock. With a top speed of just over thirty kilometers per hour, the utility quads would have a hard time in a running battle –especially if he was the one who had to run.
Beside Altmark’s modified utility quad, rigged with a medium long-range missile launcher, a pair of short-ranged missile pods, lasers and a battery of five heavy machineguns, Sergeant Yngve Nykvist’s machine rested in the woodline and awaited the enemy’s approach.

In the same stretch of woods, Sergeant Ivar Halsten quietly puffed on his pipe, waiting for the same signal that would summon him to battle. His fifty-ton utility quad’s drills and digging equipment replaced with a heavy laser, short-ranged missile launchers and a trio of machineguns. The mining quad sharing the forested slope piloted by Sergeant Jan Frieberg sported a medium autocannon and bristled with eight heavy machineguns. Frieberg studied his navigation screen overlay and plotted various possible maneuvers –noting the options limited by his slow quadruped. He had not planned to fight with a utility quad but until they managed to get their hands on more battlemechs, he was happy just to fight.

Across the valley along the base of the Eastern Ridge, an identical lance of utility quads crouched among the pines. Sergeant Ingmar Lindholm, the Skald of the unit, penned the beginning verses that would describe the coming battle.
Sergeant Torkel Torkelson took a long drag from his cigarette and concentrated on the game of Solitaire he played on the utility quad’s computer. He cursed under his breath when he ran out of moves.
Napping in his heavy utility quad, Sergeant Nils Amnegard snored, his hands rested at the controls.
The youngest pilot of the Friherre’s retainers, Bjorn Svanberg sealed the letter to his mother on Verthandi and tucked it into his cooling vest. In the gray darkness, he watched the snowflakes dance around his encaged cockpit, his eyes unable to see beyond the dense wall of trees.

Among the dimly lit building, crews and loading machines moved at a feverish pace, moving pallets and crates to the massive lift hidden in the barn and transporting them underground. The lift returned to the surface with pallets loaded with racks full of weapons and suits of body armor. With practiced ease, Albert fastened the buckles of his plate carapace and tested his helmet’s power. Satisfied, he drew a long arm from a rack and attached the data cord to his helmet. He slapped a power pack into the weapon and patiently waited for the diagnostic sequence to complete.


0920 Hours

From his position, As`Zaman could see occasional heat emanations. He keyed his data recorder, “Intermittent heat reading –too small for regular jump jets, possibly jump infantry.” The feed from the Guillemot could not detect troops, just six battlemechs moving to the mouth of the valley, “Jump infantry could explain why the Raiders’ approach has been so slow and explains how a force could encircle and massacre small settlements.” He remained calm, monitored his displays until he saw the cluster of six targets halt for a few seconds, formed a line abreast facing the valley, and slowly advanced. Suddenly, one of the targets broke off from the line and in an alarming burst of speed, continued westward along the path. It was time to break radio silence. “Command, this is Mongoose –one of the Raiders has broken off, heading west.”

Anderssen tuned her radio to the universal emergency frequencies and transmitted, “This valley is defended by Ulfgar’s Company –of the Tyr Regiment.” She continued, “We don’t care what you have against these people, we shall not allow you to attack them with impunity.” She waited for a reply.
“This is not your fight –We suggest that you stand aside,” was the reply, “This is your only warning.”

Tanaka shivered as she started her Jenner’s power plant, eyes on her display as the line of machines began to break up as the faster machines raced ahead. She noted that one of the battlemechs slowed to a halt, as if to observe the others.

The Panther rumbled to life and Magnussen allowed the faster Raider battlemechs race past his position. The Panther rose to its feet and fired its particle cannon at the closest target, missing as it ran by. “What kind of `mech is that?” he shouted as he broke radio silence, “All units, start up, these guys are fast!”
As one, the pilots in the utility quads hit their ignitions.
Mohammed Bey ran his Mongoose through the thinner stands of trees and saw dim shapes in motion beyond the woods.

Magnussen was about to chase the battlemech that he fired at when the unmistakable silhouette of a Hunchback trotted across his path. He let out an exultant roar when his cannon struck his target’s torso. “They have a Hunchback…”

Sergeant Amnegard flinched as a cloud of missiles peppered his position, some tearing some armor from his quad’s right side. The beam from a heavy laser burned past his machine as he pushed forward and returned fire. He grinned when his own laser hit. “I don’t recognize the `mech I just fired at –I saw one that looked like a Locust far in the lead and a Shadow Hawk of sorts.

From her station, Kapten Anderssen fired a volley of missiles at separate targets, her lips forming a slight smile as she struck both targets. “Overste, I can see a pair of humanoid battlemechs, medium weight, fast; one bird walker –possibly a Locust but different –all closing fast.”

Racing over the mown fields near the valley’s mouth, Mohammed Bey saw the squat form of the last battlemech of the formation. “What is that?” The Mongoose sprinted in, its sensors aimed at the unknown design. “That has to be some kind of old machine with scrap parts welded to it, perhaps a Cicada…” He triggered his lasers as his Mongoose scrambled by the stationary battlemech, missing with all three weapons.

Skirting the woods of the eastern ridge, Magnussen’s particle cannon and missiles went wide. The Hunchback he pursued pivoted and fired two rapid bursts in return with his autocannon, its deadly volleys flying wide. A laser raked the Panther’s right arm, melting away armor. “By Hela, this one has a pair of autocannons!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Magnussen saw a blur that ran behind the Hunchback and lit up the dim valley with a salvo of laser fire as well as a blinding flash of orange flame.
“Take that!” shouted Tanaka, her Jenner loping over the snow-strewn field like a predatory beast, “Let’s see if you can take the heat!”

Anderssen’s jaw dropped as her display indicated that the left arm of her Trebuchet no longer had any armor –she could have sworn only one laser struck it. Even more disturbing was how her target managed to dodge both of her missile volleys.

Overste Ulfgar turned his Hunchback in time to see the Locust streak past him, on its way to the distant buildings and he despaired. From the darkness, dozens of thin beams cut through the haze and he could see missiles flying. He turned his Hunchback to help the beleaguered settlers.

Sergeant Nykvist’s quad made it to the edge of the woods and received a hail of missile fire that stripped away armor. He cursed at his own ineffective return fire.
A heavy quad tore through the trees beside Nykvist’s machine, heavy autocannon blazing. “I’m with you, Yngve!” shouted Lojtnant Altmark. He grinned when he saw the Raider’s arm strike the frozen ground, “They’re making a push toward the western ridge –trying to avoid half our force.”

The Friherre’s Hunchback thundered over the frozen ground, he could see at least one building on fire, “To the back of the valley –they are killing the settlers!” In the light of the flames, he saw the Raider Locust dashing between the buildings, taking small arms fire from every direction.

“Mongoose, on the way,” replied As`Zaman. He spun his Mongoose along the eastern ridge and headed northwest at a sprint. The gray haze lit up as a pair of particle beams streaked past Mohammed Bey’s battlemech. “That’s impossible!” The teen panicked and turned his Mongoose northward, and stumbled into what looked like a couple of dispersed squads of jump infantry. He hit his lasers, raking the loose formation and dashed by, his light machine peppered by half a dozen missiles. He turned toward a stand of trees and examined his rear cameras. “Robots… They have attack robots!”

Tanaka heard the Overste’s call and turned her Jenner north, almost running into the retreating Raider battlemech that had lost an arm. Lasers and missiles showered the fleet Jenner with little effect. Leila held her breath, squeezed her own weapon controls and cursed as her missiles flew wide, setting the barren ground afire.

Friherre Bödvar halted his Hunchback when one of the Raider battlemechs ran past him at just over a hundred meters distant, “That one looks like a Shadow Hawk but somehow different… He still has some nerve to ignore me.” He centered his targeting pipper on the arrogant Raider and fired. The burst of rounds tore armor from the right side of the Raider’s machine –even as the Raider poured laser and missiles into the North Farm buildings.
Ulfgar saw the Locust fire its battery of lasers into what looked like a row of trenches and witnessed as dozens of men and women died in a matter of seconds. From out of the ground, amid the smoke and flames, arose more men and women, some carrying huge weapons that struck back at the Raiders’ battlemechs with vengeance. The Locust staggered, one of its arms ripped away by return fire.

From the eastern portion of the valley, Sergeant Lindholm led his lance of utility quads in a slow charge, the huge engines belching black smoke in protest. “Did Mongoose say robots?” He strained his eyes to find targets and pointed his quad toward the distant muzzle flashes.
“That’s what I heard,” replied Torkelson as he tried to push his machine at thirty kilometers per hour, “Who are these people?”

His Mongoose damaged, Mohammed Bey dashed across the valley floor once more to avoid enemy fire –according to his display, a damaged but still dangerous battlemech was making its way back toward the mouth of the valley. He saw the Raider on his relayed information screen and headed over a small rise to avoid contact. As the Mongoose crested the rise, Mohammed Bey felt his battlemech’s controls twist in his hands. His damage display indicated his leg armor gone and an actuator damaged. The teen wrestled with his controls and felt his Mongoose topple to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.


The Raider Hunchback, still afire due to Tanaka’s infernos, found itself surrounded by four utility quads, weapons aimed and ready. Sergeant Frieberg keyed his external speaker, “Surrender, you haven’t got a chance.”
The Raider’s response was to fire his autocannon at Frieberg’s quad; the raking fire tore away the quad’s left hind leg and the machine collapsed.
Infuriated, Svanberg fired his heavy autocannon, which ripped a large portion of the Raider Hunchback’s already damaged torso away.
Despite the crossfire from four of the quads at ranges of just over a hundred meters, the Hunchback showed no sign of surrender or retreat.

Magnussen traded fire with the retreating Raider, “If I didn’t know it, I’d say this Raider was a streamlined Griffin but it’s far too light with the particle cannon removed.” He caught a glimpse of the telltale plumes of tiny jumpjets behind his Panther, “Those robots Kapten As`Zaman mentioned are getting closer.”

Leila decided to run her Jenner along the eastern ridge once more and fell in next to Anderssen’s Trebuchet.
“I haven’t seen any robots yet,” said the Kapten, “Do you think he’s mistaken?”
“Not on something like this,” replied Tanaka, “he relies on the accuracy of his sensors.”
Anderssen looked at her overlay, “Where is Kapten As`Zaman?”

The Friherre ran his Hunchback forward and blasted the Shadow Hawk’s right torso away from point blank range, taking its arm with it. The Raider’s battlemech spun to the right and tumbled to the ground. Overste Ulfgar saw the Locust firing weapons in all directions, the battlemech strode between the burning buildings, and its torso appeared covered with numerous dark shapes. The Locust finally collapsed, its spindly legs kicking. Ulfgar was not certain but he thought he glimpsed an image of several muscular figures hacking away at the Locust’s cockpit with axes.

Sergeant Amnegard looked over his left shoulder and saw a handful of squat shapes as they sailed over the tops of the pines and set down sixty meters away. He spun his quad to face the robots and sprayed them with his machineguns. “They’re still standing!” A fiery cloud of missiles blew away portions of his mount’s armor. He keyed his microphone, “Hostile drones making their way toward the settlement –hard to hit, hard to kill.” He ducked as machinegun fire tore holes in his windshield, “Trolls! That’s what they look like, damned ugly Trolls!”
Torkelson drew his quad alongside Amnegard’s and fired his medium autocannon and battery of machineguns as more drones appeared. “Pull back!”

Sergeant Halsten turned his medium quad when he heard more firing. His quad shuddered when a handful of long-range missiles slapped one of its rear legs. He spotted the damaged Raider –it had halted to support the advancing Trolls. He ducked his head when a pair of particle projector cannon barely missed his machine. “What the…” Halsten could barely see where the shots came from. More missiles stuck his quad, his cockpit filled with smoke and he felt his left arm go numb. His quad rocked and he saw a Troll using a claw to tear armor from one of the legs.

Lojtnant Altmark attempted to reform his lance. Frieberg’s quad struggled to rise on its three remaining legs and Nykvist had pushed his quad out to the center of the valley to support the Lindholm’s lance of quads.

Tanaka’s Jenner sped toward the burning buildings and she could see Ulfgar’s Hunchback striking the Shadow Hawk with its fists. She fired her lasers at a pack of Trolls as they drew close to the collection of buildings. Missiles flew past her battlemech and she made a wide circle around the cluster of structures. The Shadow Hawk fell backwards and a massive explosion ripped the battlemech apart when its ammunition detonated.
Leila backed her Jenner away when she saw several figures running between the buildings, some seemed to be huge and muscular –these hefted large weapons and fired them at the Trolls.

Mohammed Bey tapped a button on his medical pack and triggered the injection of an anesthetic. The pain where the restraints bruised his skin slowly faded but his head still throbbed and the nausea he experienced indicated a possible concussion. He hit the next autoinjector and he felt warmth flowing into his right thigh where the medical pack was located. After a few seconds, the teen’s eyes snapped wide open and he moved his controls in an attempt to get his Mongoose to stand. The Mongoose rose from prone to a crouch and from a crouch to its feet but once on its feet, the battlemech wavered; the teen winced in pain and felt his battlemech pitch forward and strike the ground once more before he lost consciousness.

Halsten’s quad shut down and collapsed, the Trolls had torn the cockpit open and the sergeant’s life signs no longer registered. The Trolls bounded back toward the south, where the strange, squat battlemech waited.

Overste Ulfgar felt his Hunchback shudder as a squad of Trolls swarmed onto his battlemech. Another squad of the alien machines jumped into the center of the cluster of buildings, machineguns blazing at the defenders. Ulfgar fired his lasers at the things and crushed one underfoot.
Tanaka tried to maneuver to a better position to support the Friherre but the Hunchback crashed through the side of the barn, the Trolls tearing away chunks of armor.

The Raider Hunchback jumped toward the south –on fire, holes in its armor, it finally had enough. “Let them go!” shouted Altmark, “We have to protect the settlement!”


0925 Hours

Hetman Bogdan Sirkova monitored the transmissions between the Command Center and the Friherre’s company. He checked the time once more, “Where are they?” The Hetman sat in the heated cockpit of his Phoenix Hawk and eyed the snow-covered fields across the bridge that spanned the river.

The snow fell heavier outside of the shelter of the valleys and the small convoy of haulers, lead by a tractor with a bulldozer blade, slowly trudged toward the valley settlement of Novo Sich Zaporozhye.
The tractor’s driver eased his machine along the path, pushing aside the cluttered snow. The dense, overcast sky delayed the expected dawn, requiring headlights to navigate the wide path that connected the valley settlements. Plodding along at twenty kilometers an hour at best, the pilot stifled a yawn. The last thing the driver expected was a battlemech to block his path. He throttled down and hit his brakes just before the Locust fired its weapons.
The hauler behind the tractor screeched to a halt, its passengers shouting in confusion at the sudden stop. When the tractor disappeared in a fireball, the driver hit the throttle and pushed his vehicle toward the nearest forest.
Nikki sat on a bench in the last hauler in line and looked out of the window to see the light of flames reflected on the snow. The hauler rocked and turned. Amid the shouts, screams and the sound of weapon fire, the child clutched her doll and curled up in her seat.

The Hetman saw the flash reflected on the low clouds and muttered, “Bozhye moi…” He started his fusion engine and keyed his radio, “The convoy is in trouble –have the emergency medical staff at the ready.” The Phoenix Hawk stepped forward and walked across the stone bridge, slowly accelerating as it crossed the open field.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

North Farm, August 13, 3038, 0925 Hours

Kapten Anderssen glanced at her display and keyed her transmitter, “Overste Ulfgar, what is your status?” The data relayed from Assembly Point Thule indicated the Friherre wounded and incapacitated. The Kapten switched frequencies, “Lojtnant Tanaka, say status of the Overste’s Hunchback.”

The Jenner carefully picked its way through the rubble between the clustered buildings -two of the buildings burned fiercely and one of the living quarters collapsed during the fighting. Leila could see the Hunchback prone among the ruins, its torn, smoking form surrounded by several crushed and mangled Trolls. “This is Tanaka, I have the Hunchback in sight, severely damaged and among the wreckage of a collapsed structure,” she halted her battlemech as a squad of settlers rushed to the rubble to search for survivors, “we need immediate medical help and a recovery vehicle.” She looked at the piles of bodies, there must have been at least a hundred.

Lojtnant Altmark cursed as his seventy-five ton quad stalked across the snow-covered ground. He saw the cockpit of Sergeant Halsten’s quad ripped open; the pilot’s body slumped over the controls, covered with blood, steaming in the cold.
The Panther stood ready, Lojtnant Magnussen’s eyes glued upon the feed from the Guillemot –the Raiders retreated as slowly as they had come. “The bastards are leaving.”


Sich Novo Zaporozhye

The Phoenix Hawk sailed over the top of the evergreen-covered spur, buffeted by the winds. The Hetman aimed his battlemech toward the glow of several fires, perhaps a kilometer away. The clouds thinned, and he could see a ruined tractor and a burning hauler on the path. Tracers and small arms fire erupted from a distant wood, followed by a deadly battery of small lasers in return. “There you are.”
The Raider Locust chased down the last hauler, gleefully raked the helpless transport until it burned and ignored the handful of surviving defenders’ futile gunfire. Suddenly the Raider’s machine stumbled, its left arm vaporized in a bright flash.
“Dog of dogs!” roared the gray-bearded Kozak over his external speakers, “It is easy to be brave when shooting down women and children!” He waited for the Raider to turn and face him. The Hetman growled in anger when the Locust ignored him and its lasers mowed down more armed defenders. In the flash of the lasers and burning pines, Sirkova could see that the brave defenders were but teens armed with autorifles, selling their lives so that the others may escape among the trees.
With a kick, the Phoenix Hawk swept one of the Locust’s spindly legs out from under it and the Raider crashed onto its side, “Get up, curse you! Get up and fight a warrior, craven pirate!” The Phoenix Hawk took a step back, “I won’t use my large laser to make it even.”
The Locust rose slowly, wavering on its unsteady bird legs and turned to face its challenger.


North Farm, 0930 Hours

“Are you certain?” asked Albert, he wiped the grime from his face and removed his helmet, “Let me know if anything changes.” After the messenger departed, he turned to Jeremy, who sat as one of his fellows tended his wounds, “It appears for the first time the Raiders have been successfully repulsed.”
The injured council member nodded, “They have never faced a defending force of this kind before.” He looked over to where the stretcher-bearers placed the bodies of the slain, “They would have succeeded,” said Jeremy, “and I don’t believe Jade Falcon will send out another training sibko without some substantial backup.”
Albert bowed his head, “There is no victory here, my friend, and we have just survived at great cost.” He looked over to the approaching battlemechs in the distance, “Have the Elementals hidden –those people from the Inner Sphere must not see the suits or our soldiers.”
“I have a crew of cargo loaders working as we speak,” replied Jeremy. He stood up and examined the glistening wound sealant that covered his wounds, “I shall have the technicians ready, as the council agreed.”
Elizabeth limped through the machine shop’s door, “Albert, the people from the Inner Sphere are on their way –we cannot keep them away from here for long –at least one of their mechwarriors is slain and they shall want to know for what they have spilled blood.” She unbuckled her armored vest and leaned her portable missile launcher against the wall.
Albert nodded, “It will cost us little to share what this Star League depot contains –much of it is inaccessible and they are welcome to it.” He could feel the vibration of approaching battlemechs, “What is the status of the main shaft?”
“The lift will be operational within two hours,” replied the woman, “Fortunately, damage to that building was minimal.”
“Tell the others that we must be ready to leave as soon as Bohemian Flight arrives,” reminded Albert. The woman nodded, hefted her weapon and left the hall.

The Jenner paced around the cluster of buildings; Tanaka waved away by the settlers, she waited for the others of the unit to arrive. Kapten Anderssen ordered the more damaged machines to assemble to the rear of the valley, the others standing ready until they could confirm the Raiders’ departure.
Sections of forest burned fiercely and threatened to spread along the valley. The young pilot wondered if the two fire control vehicles that worked to extinguish the burning structures would be able to handle a forest fire.
Leila keyed her radio, “Kapten Anderssen, this is Tanaka, has Kapten As`Zaman reported in yet?”
“Negative, Lojtnant Tanaka,” replied Anderssen, “a team sent out to his last known position has not reported in as of yet.”



1000 Hours

“It is confirmed, Kapten, the Raider dropship lifted off less than five minutes ago,” reported Dorek Rejda, the Guillemot’s commander.
Anderssen breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you for your timely report, Captain Rejda.” She switched frequencies, “All Tyr elements; the Raider dropship has lifted off and appears to be departing,” she took a breath, “all units are to remain at alert status until further notice.” They could relax somewhat –they had a slight alarm as the Raider battlemech that had broken off earlier that morning sped by the mouth of the valley on its return to its dropship.
Lojtnant Altmark shook his head and commented, “A little over cautious…” Of his lance of quads, Halsten was dead with Frieberg and Nykvist wounded. Their machines repairable, the lojtnant sat back in his control seat and rested his eyes –the emergency medical crews and recovery vehicles would be on their way from the assembly point.
Sergeant Lindholm’s lance faired better –the Raiders took advantage of the quads’ lack of speed and easily avoided contact with the machines under his command. The sergeant bowed his head, too exhausted to think any more.


Sich Novo Zaporozhye

The aged Kozak brushed his long, gray lock of hair to its place behind his left ear and smoothed the drooping ends of his flowing moustaches, “Let the people of North Farm know that the Kozakii have been true to their word.” He released the transmit button on his microphone and looked out over the field strewn with bodies and wreckage. Teams of medics and volunteers searched for survivors and tended the wounded.
He issued the Raider a challenge and the Locust fled at full tilt, leaving the scattered, surviving refugees to the care of the Sich. He was relieved that the Blood Ember had offered access to its medical supplies and staff.


North Farm…

The Mongoose rose from prone to a crouch and from a crouch to its feet but once on its feet, the battlemech wavered; the teen winced in pain and looked out over the field of tall grass that waved under the bright sun. “This isn’t right,” muttered As`Zaman, he felt nauseous and his head throbbed. He called up his status display and struggled to focus his eyes. The Mongoose’s left leg had no armor remaining and its structure damaged. He marched his battlemech toward the back of the valley and saw that the leg’s lower actuator suffered damage as well. The Mongoose’s right torso took minor damage in the fall. “What kind of weapons was that Raider using?” He examined the medical monitor and considered using the auto-injector once more. The auto-injector contained a standard dose of antitoxin, anti-radiation and antibiotics. The device carried a battery of powerful anesthetics often called “Crash” among mechwarriors. Crash eased the pain caused by physical injuries from combat, falls and neural feedback. The side effects of using Crash were dulled reflexes and lethargy. To counteract these drawbacks, a mechwarrior injected a stimulant at the same time. This stimulant, often called “Burn” by mechwarriors for a number of reasons –it usually felt as if heat flowed through the user’s veins as it took effect and occasionally the mechwarrior would experience a manic euphoria and heightened aggression while influenced by the drug. “Doing a Crash and Burn” was a reference to one who received an injury in battle, used his autodoctor and returned with almost berserk vengeance.

He was about to steer his Mongoose toward the settlement when he spotted movement among a grove of trees, not fifty meters away. A figure cloaked in black strode confidently into the clearing and halted. Mohammed Bey frowned and unbuckled his harness. Before he climbed down the cable ladder to the ground, the teen grabbed a satchel from the stowage area behind his control seat.
Once on the ground, As`Zaman regarded the silent figure waiting for him. He figure was dressed all in black, his face pale, impassive eyes and features. The teen walked up to the figure and bowed, “The allegory here isn’t very subtle,” he said, “I know who you are and I have always been ready.”
“Death is rarely subtle,” said the figure, he opened his cloak, ready to give the final embrace.
Mohammed Bey reached into the satchel and drew out a box, “Not so fast –I have my chess board and pieces, ready to challenge you for a reprieve.” He found a boulder shaded from the sun and set up the chessboard.
“Many have tried,” said Death, “few have succeeded.”
“As long as there is a chance,” said As`Zaman, “I shall continue fighting.”
As expected, Death picked black. Mohammed Bey opened with the queen’s pawns and knight, Death chose to counter with like moves. Once his king had castled, the teen went on the offensive, losing a knight to Death’s queen, exchanging it for a bishop. Death then advanced both of his knights and in a savage series of exchanges, Death managed to come out ahead, trading a rook for As`Zaman’s rook and a bishop.
“Check,” said Death, his queen dominated the center of the board.
Mohammed Bey again felt his head throbbing; a wave of nausea made him close his eyes for a moment.
“You don’t have a chance,” said Death, “why keep struggling?”
“I don’t believe in chance –I can defeat you,” replied the mechwarrior, “I am alive, I am human –I shall never surrender while I have the means to resist, the means to win.”
On the thirty-first move, Mohammed Bey traded his last bishop for one of Death’s knights and contested control of the board’s center. Death responded by using his queen to remove white pawns from play. In an attempt to trap the teen’s queen, Death lost his last knight.
“Checkmate in one move,” warned the teen, his queen had trapped the black king behind a row of pawns. In a flurry of desperate moves, Death used his queen to place the white king in check six times in a row, but lacking the supporting pieces to end the game. Once Mohammed Bey’s king found refuge behind his remaining rook, Death bowed his head, “Well played, my Bey,” he stood up and took up his scythe, “I shall not be far –there is so much for me to do.”
The teen bowed, “I shall look forward to our next meeting.”

The Mongoose circled the collection of structures a second time, “There must be some kind of factory under these buildings,” commented the teen. He noted that the buildings were different from the collection of buildings he had visited the day before and the cultivated fields were nowhere in sight. “Something isn’t right.” He made a brief search of the frequencies and detected nothing at all –he could not hail the Blood Ember or the Guillemot. He opened his main access hatch and unbuckled his safety harness.
The young mechwarrior walked up to one of the structures and examined it. From a distance, it looked like a weathered clapboard building but at closer examination, the wooden exterior was a clever façade. “These are concrete buildings.” He tried the doors but they proved were locked and reinforced. “These are definitely government facilities –but whose?”
As`Zaman returned to his battlemech and took his time climbing to the cockpit. He again monitored the frequencies for several minutes and to his surprise, managed to intercept some radio chatter. The transmissions were broken and confused –certainly battle but the voices toned with fear and despair. A symbol flashed on his navigation screen, one he had never seen before but knew from his father’s instruction, “That’s a satellite feed.” The youth tapped the symbol. The navigation screen changed to a topographic overlay and he easily made out the valleys and the river that flowed from Sich Novo Zaporozhye. Above the valleys, he recognized structures but could not determine their purpose. According to the map, the scattered settlements did not exist.
The Mongoose walked out of the valley where North Farm was supposed to be and Mohammed Bey noted that the worn path between the valleys did not exist as well.
On a hunch, Mohammed Bey steered his battlemech toward Saint Andrew’s Plantation –the place where he had detected remains of aged ruins.

The Mongoose walked along, avoiding the denser stands of trees. The use of satellite information had long been a lost art but As`Zaman’s father, like the teen’s grandfather and the As`Zaman pilots of three earlier generations, passed on what little knowledge they had learned from a time when military satellites were common over planets. When he opened a larger map, the teen saw several icons appear. He blinked when he checked the time –the date read February 2, 2768. “Alright, that explains a few things,” murmured As`Zaman. He noted a pair of aerofighters streaking across the map and slid his machine into some trees with a thick overhead canopy. Once under cover, he shut down his Mongoose and operated its systems on battery power.
The sky was suddenly alive with light and fire. Aerofighters, perhaps a dozen of them, engaged in combat high over the mountain range. The satellite feed indicated at least five dropships had entered the atmosphere. From the high ridges, huge laser cannon engaged targets. At least two of the dropships tumbled from the sky, impacting far to the south.
From the movement of the other icons, there appeared to be a running battle about twenty or thirty kilometers out on the Southern Plains, heading north. On the Identification, Friend or Foe (IFF), the satellite assigned white shield icons to the retreating forces and red triangles to the numerous attackers.
“Classic encirclement,” muttered As`Zaman. “They are doomed, unless…” He began separating the various frequencies on his primary monitor and eventually separated the forces by their call signs. Among the defenders, Claymore One through Twelve were heavy and medium battlemechs, while Dirk One through Six appeared to be light, fast machines.
The primary attackers named their lances like Tiger, Thresher, and Whale, followed by a line number and the vehicles used the vehicle type, such as Galleon and Goblin along with a corresponding number as well.
Blinding pain coursed through the teen’s skull and he bent forward in his seat, straining against the harness, eyes squeezed shut.

When Mohammed Bey opened his eyes, he realized that he had been unconscious for a few minutes. Checking his navigation display, he noted with some alarm that the fighting had gotten closer. The red triangles had either pulled away or taken horrendous casualties and the white shields’ numbers reduced as well. From the satellite feed, he determined that the remaining defenders retreated into Saint Andrew’s Plantation, closely followed by the attacking force. He started his battlemech and headed to the valley where the fighting took place.
Like North Farm, the valley where Saint Andrew’s Plantation should have been had thickets or brush, trees and tall grass instead of fields, orchards and buildings. His fingers tapped at his keyboard. The images of several battlemechs appeared on his combat display –a Hussar, Mercury, Falcon and Firefly. These machines dashed through the sparsely wooded valley, trading fire with a Commando and a Vulcan, supported by a Dervish and a Blackjack. Closing carefully, he saw the Hussar rake the Dervish’s left arm with its laser, nearly stripping it of armor with one shot. Mohammed Bey smiled and pushed his Mongoose forward, smiling as he watched the Dervish and Mercury trade fire –the Dervish missed the nimble battlemech as it struck the Dervish with its lasers.
The valley floor seemed to be a maze of dense trees and brush as the white shield force gave ground and maneuvered to stay alive. As his Mongoose loped through a clearing, he saw the Commando’s missiles rip away chunks of Hussar’s armor. The Hussar had blasted the Dervish from behind and the larger machine’s long-range missile launcher in its right torso belched smoke.
The battle resembled a desperate knife fight with the battlemechs weaving through tree-lined corridors, jumping over obstacles and firing at each other at close range. The teen raked the Dervish with his battery of lasers, striking his target. He tapped a key and transmitted a green square on the IFF. As his Mongoose passed the Hussar, he clearly glimpsed the Star League insignia on its left torso as the fleet battlemech sped by.
An explosion from behind a stand of trees shook the valley. The red triangle belonging to the Commando faded. As`Zaman saw the mushroom of flame and smoke rise into the clear sky and the Star League Mercury scamper away, chased by missiles and laser fire.
The Mongoose flanked the Vulcan and raked its legs with its lasers. The Blackjack burst through a nearby glade and blasted the Mongoose with all of its weapons, hitting it square in its armored torso with one laser. The young mechwarrior laughed and dashed through the trees, using his navigation display to line up his next target.
“Mongoose, this is Captain Maria Gordon of the 2nd Brigade, 370th Battlemech Division,” the calm voice over As`Zaman’s radio stated. “Are you from the relief ship?”
“Negative,” replied Mohammed Bey. “This is Captain As`Zaman Bey; I was with a trade mission for Kahman Mercantile…” He paused to fire ineffectively at the Blackjack when he passed it. “I’ve been separated –who are these pirates?”
“Pirates?” returned Captain Gordon. “These are Rim World Republic regulars!”
The Falcon hopped over the tree line, missiles exploded just short of impact. The Azami youth looked at his sensors and the detailed display showed the anti-missile system active in the battlemech. “Rim World Republic troops this deep in the Periphery?” asked Mohammed Bey. “What are they doing out here?” He also wondered why there was a Star League force out here as well.
“I didn’t think Amaris had any forces left outside of the Occupied Hegemony Worlds,” Gordon replied. She piloted the Hussar and expertly maneuvered the light battlemech in position for another shot at the Dervish.
The Vulcan and the Falcon traded fire and kicked at each other. The Vulcan fell to the ground, one of its legs stripped bare, tattered myomer bundles exposed.
There was no time to enjoy observing the nuances of combat, no time to stand back and analyze the swirling chaos of combat. The teen felt a surge of energy and he attacked the last three enemy machines with reckless aggression, damaging each of them, dashing into position to place an unanswered punch or kick. The teen’s brain was on fire and he could only quench it with the blood of the enemy.
Mohammed Bey felt the valley shake once again as an ammunition explosion tore the Dervish apart. As if in mockery, the Firefly leaped over the flaming remnants of the destroyed battlemech in search of another target.
“Don’t let them get away!” commanded Captain Gordon.
“After them!” shouted As`Zaman.
The Vulcan fell once more, the Blackjack halted to cover its surviving partner. Like a bear surrounded by snapping wolves, the Blackjack fell as well, its left leg destroyed –the pilot ejected and ran for cover. The Vulcan rose and attempted to flee out of the valley but the Mercury and Mongoose chased it, their lasers slicing through the enemy battlemech’s armor. The Vulcan’s torso erupted in a white flash.
“Dirk elements, form up,” ordered Gordon. “Captain…captain…”
“As`Zaman,” said Mohammed Bey. “I am yours to command, Captain Gordon.” He steered his Mongoose behind the Star League machines and followed them deep into the valley. He monitored his displays and noted that the enemy chose to stay clear of the valleys.
“They will try again when more of their backup arrives,” commented Gordon. “What do you say, Captain As`Zaman?”
“I’d expect infantry as well as artillery when they really want to take this…” the mechwarrior’s statement ended when the base of the mountain slid open and the handful of battlemechs marched into the yawning concrete cavern. Two recovery vehicles rumbled out of the hidden structure, followed by a pair of tracked vehicles loaded with infantry. Mohammed Bey moved his Mongoose into the depot before the large camouflaged wall slid back into place.

Once inside the underground compound, As`Zaman followed the directions of ground crew as they assigned him a mechbay. A team of technicians waited for the Mongoose to take its position inside the cage of scaffolding and waited for the battlemech to shut down. Even as the young pilot unbuckled his harness and reached to open his access hatch, Mohammed Bey noted the technicians already fast at work making repairs on his Mongoose.
After As`Zaman climbed down the scaffold, Captain Gordon and two of the other pilots greeted him. They exchanged salutes, “Captain As`Zaman,” said Gordon, “it was very opportune of you to appear when you did.”
“I am just happy to have been of help,” replied the youth. “What is the situation?”
The Star League officer exchanged looks with her sergeants, “We were hoping that you would be able to fill us in –the Rim Worlds warship arrived two days ago and threatened to bombard this facility,” she told Mohammed Bey. “Fortunately, they haven’t been able to pinpoint the portions under the mountain vulnerable to their weapons.” She gave him a curious look, “Please pardon me but I’ve never seen such a uniform.”
It was then that As`Zaman noticed that all of the other mechwarriors wore full cooling suits instead of the skimpy tight cloth undergarment and cooling vest that the teen used. He nodded, “My own suit was damaged in a previous action and I had no replacement when I had to take part in this fight –please pardon my lack of adequate equipment.”
Captain Gordon seemed satisfied with the explanation, “Of course,” she turned to one of the sergeants. “Sergeant Stuart, please make certain that the captain is supplied with a new cooling suit.” She looked the teen over, “I see you’ve used your medipack, do you need a doctor?”
As`Zaman gave a dismissive wave, “I just took a bad fall, Captain,” he smiled, despite the throbbing pain that fought against the layer of drug-induced numbness. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”


North Farm, August 13, 3038, 1325 Hours

Kapten Anderssen left the hastily assembled field medical facility to meet with her officers in one of the remaining buildings. She wore her duty fatigues, field cap, and marched to the meeting with dire news.
She walked into the classroom that the council let them use for their meeting.
“What is the Friherre’s condition?” asked Lojtnant Altmark.
“Please, all of you,” said Anderssen. “Please be seated.” She waited for the assembled officers and sergeants to take their seats. “According to Doctor Reese, the Overste does not have a very good chance of recovery due to the extent of his injuries and burns.”
“There has to be something they can do,” commented Lindholm, his voice showing despair.
“Dr. Reese and his staff are doing the best the can,” explained the Kapten. “There are more wounded than all the medics in all the valleys can handle.”
“Our medical staff should take care of the Friherre first,” growled Magnussen. “We’ve helped others and what have they done for us?”
The officer put a finger to her ear, “This is Kapten Anderssen.” She held a hand up to the others in the room as she spoke over her communicator. “What was that?”
The recovery crew stood beside the fallen Mongoose, puzzled. The senior sergeant spoke into his microphone, “I said, we cannot find Kapten As`Zaman anywhere –he has left his cockpit and his emergency locator isn’t transmitting.”
“Keep looking for him,” ordered Anderssen. “He may have been wounded and if you don’t find him before dark he’ll freeze to death.”
“Yes Kapten.”
Twenty meters away from the prone battlemech, hidden among a clump of ancient trees, a small, portable chess set sat upon a snow-covered boulder.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

(The Knight is no longer alone. Death has come to him and he raises his hand.)
Death: Shall we play our game to the end?

Knight: Your move!

(Death raises his hand and picks up the Knight's queen. Antonius Block looks at Death.)

Death: Now I take your queen.

Knight: I did not notice that.

(The Knight leans over the game. The moonlight moves over the chess pieces, which seem to have a life of their own.
Jof has dozed off for a few moments, but suddenly he wakens. Then he sees the Knight and Death together. He becomes very frightened and awakens Mia.)

Jof: Mia!

Mia: Yes, what is it?

Jof: I see something terrible. Something I almost cannot talk about.

Mia: What do you see?

Jof: The Knight is sitting over there playing chess.

Mia: Yes, I can see that too but I don't think it's so terrible.

Jof: But do you see whom he is playing with?

Mia: He is alone. You mustn’t frighten me this way.

Jof: No, no, he isn't alone.

Mia: Who is he with then?

Jof: Death. He is sitting there playing chess with Death himself.

Mia: You mustn't say that.

Jof: We must try to escape.

Mia: We can't do that.

Jof: We must try. They are so occupied with their game that if we move very quietly, they will not notice us.

(Jof gets up carefully and disappears into the darkness behind the trees. Mia remains standing, as if paralyzed by fear. She stares fixedly at the Knight and the chess game. She holds her son in her arms. Jof returns.)

Jof: I have harnessed the horse. The wagon is standing near the big tree. You go first and I will follow you with the packs. See that Mikael doesn't wake up.

(Mia does what Jof has told her. At the same moment, the Knight looks up from his game.)

Death: It is your move, Antonius Block.

(The Knight remains silent. He sees Mia go through the moonlight towards the wagon. Jof bends down to take up their packs and follows at a distance.)

Death: Have you lost interest in our game?

(The Knight's eyes become alarmed. Death looks at him intently.)

Knight: Lost interest? On the contrary.

Death: You seem anxious. Are you hiding anything?

Knight: Nothing escapes you –or does it?

Death: Nothing escapes me. No one escapes from me.

Knight: It is true, I am worried.

(He pretends to be clumsy and knocks the chess pieces over with the hem of his coat. He looks up at Death.)

Knight: I’ve forgotten how the pieces stood.

Death: (laughs contentedly) But I have not forgotten. You cannot get away that easily.

(Death leans over the board and rearranges the pieces. The Knight looks past him towards the road. Mia has just climbed up on the wagon. Jof takes the horse by the bridle and leads it down the road. Death notices nothing; he is completely occupied with reconstructing the game.)

Death: Now I see something interesting.

Knight: What do you see?

Death: You are mated on the next move, Antonius Block.

Knight: That is true.

Death: Did you enjoy your reprieve?

Knight: Yes, I did.

Death: I'm happy to hear that. Now I'll be leaving you. When we meet again, you and your companions' time will be up.

Knight: And you will divulge your secrets.

Death: I have no secrets.

Knight: So you know nothing.

Death: I have nothing to tell.

(The Knight wants to answer, but Death is already gone.)

Darkness. Cold darkness. “Why am I dreaming about an ancient Bergman vid?” Mohammed Bey felt as if he was floating. He tried to open his eyes but they would not open. “Huh, I must still be asleep.” He tried to move but realized that he floated in that state of awareness hovering between sleep and lucidity. “I really should get up…”
“I really hate this. I mean, if I know I’m asleep and dreaming, am I really asleep and dreaming?” He tried to move once more. “Alright, let’s take stock of the situation –I was fighting Raiders on Midgard, my Mongoose got damaged and fell. I have a concussion and took a dose each of Crash and Burn.” He struggled to move but could not feel his limbs.
“I lost consciousness… I may still be unconscious or in a coma if it was not for the fact that I am aware of what I’m thinking.”
Pain… that throbbing pain…
As`Zaman felt that familiar wave of nausea. “That’s a good sign… I woke up and played a game of chess with Death.” He tried to move his limbs once more and failed. “The terrain is similar, but the meteorological conditions are radically different, the settlements are not in place and elements of the Star League and Rim Worlds Republic are fighting over this world –at least, that’s what I’ve been able to perceive. What I have to do is…” He lapsed into darkness once more.


Star League Periphery Depot #1134, -58/1061, February 2, 2768, 2215 Hours

Mohammed Bey opened his eyes. The room was dark but even the tiny lights on the panel beside the door provided enough illumination for him to see the bare walls and simple desk. He lay on a real bed, not a military cot, not a dropship’s cramped bunk… He then realized that we still wore his cooling vest and boots. “I must have been exhausted,” he muttered. The teen slowly rose to a sitting position, leaning forward as the motion caused momentary vertigo. He saw his neural helmet sitting on the desk.
“How long have I been sleeping?” He rubbed his eyes, “Captain Gordon, Sergeant Todd, Sergeant Menzies and Sergeant Stuart… That’s who they were…” He stood up and tapped the light switch. The teen closed his eyes at the sudden sting from brilliant light. He adjusted the dimmer to a tolerable level and looked about the room. There was desk, a locker and two doors –one that led to a hall and the other, slightly open, that would be the bath. He stuck his head through the open door and noted the spartan toilet, sink and shower stall. He started the shower and let the water run for a while, filling the small room with steam.
Like many officers’ quarters, the room had a full-length mirror on the wall by the exit door. As`Zaman took inventory of the bruises and abrasions caused by his Mongoose’s falls. “Nothing worthy of a medal,” he remarked. To surprise, he found three new cooling suits exactly like the ones worn by the League pilots. Unsure of his exact size, his hosts had provided a range of lengths to allow the youth to pick a uniform that fit.
The teen looked at his reflection in the mirror –he picked the suit that had a more loose fit and offered greater comfort and movement. The new medical pack in place, he could monitor his vital functions at a glance. The suit he wore resembled the one his father wore, although his father’s combat suit was a copy of an older DCMS design manufactured by the M’Touga clan on Algedi. Satisfied with the fit of his new uniform, Mohammed Bey used the computer terminal on his desk to gather some useful intelligence, such as the location of the mess hall. There was a knock at the door.
“Please enter.”
A tall man wearing a mechwarrior’s combat suit entered the room and snapped to attention, “Lord Captain As`Zaman, I have been sent here to inquire about your condition.”
Mohammed Bey bowed and executed a salaam, “Peace be with you, Sergeant Todd.” He smiled, “As you could see, I have rested and am refreshed, thank you.”
The sergeant nodded, “Captain Gordon would like to invite you to the Officer’s Mess, if you are agreeable.”
“Please relay my acceptance to your captain, Sergeant Todd,” instructed As`Zaman, “It shall be an honor.”


2245 Hours

Captain Gordon sipped her coffee and sat back in her chair, “That is a rather fantastic story, Lord Mohammed.”
The youth shrugged, “I cannot explain how I got here and in these situations, I simply accept everything at face value and see where it all leads.”
“That may be easy for you, my Lord,” replied Gordon. “At the moment, this depot is now under my command since Major Wallace has not returned.” She looked down at the table, “Under normal conditions, I would have you under guard.”
“Do what you must, captain,” said As`Zaman. “I am here for a reason and not to sit out this fight.”
The officer nodded, “You aren’t a Rim Worlds spy –you handle that Mongoose too well and at seventeen, your story makes far more sense than anything that I could piece together at the moment.” She looked at him, “Only a handful of people in the Star League know that this world was a frozen wasteland before the emplacement of several orbital Storm Inhibitors.”
“I have heard of those but they no longer exist…”
Captain Gordon held up a hand, “Please, don’t tell me anything else.” She stood up, “Listen, I am going to have to trust you –a Rim Worlds Republic warship is orbiting this planet and has demanded that we surrender this depot.”
“You mustn’t do that,” insisted the teen.
Gordon agreed, “I’m not letting Amaris’ dogs get anything but a bloody nose if I can help it.” She continued, “While you rested, several more of our battlemechs made it back. Of our company strength of twenty-four, only a dozen remain.”
“There are twenty-four battlemechs in your company? That is unusually large,” commented Mohammed Bey.
“Not at all, my Lord,” responded Gordon. “There are three lances of six battlemechs each plus a command lance.”
“That’s still rather much to defend a depot,” commented As`Zaman. “Although I thought Star League facilities usually had a regiment for defense.”
“This is a small, secret depot,” said Gordon. “And what battlemechs, vehicles and infantry we have here are all we have left of the 370th Division.”
“Really? What is your status?” asked the youth with interest. “And what is the situation outside?”
Captain Gordon smiled, “My Lord, if you are ready please come with me.”

Our control center is rather primitive,” said Gordon. “This is only a depot, after all.”
Mohammed Bey looked at the Command Center, “Amazing.” He saw a wall-sized screen divided into several sections. A dozen soldiers sat at terminals.
“The warship is in orbit on the other side of the planet, launching fighters and dropships,” said Captain Gordon. “We have five defense cannon –so far we have shot down three dropships and fourteen aerofighters.”
As`Zaman shook his head at the image of dropships falling from the sky, “Impressive.” He looked at a monitor, “Have they destroyed many of your satellites?”
One of the soldiers turned to Mohammed Bey, “Sir, the chance of one of their aero even finding a military satellite is remote.” He returned his attention to his screen, “Unfortunately, they chose to attack the Storm Inhibitors –this planet will be covered with snow once again in a few decades.”
“How many of them are on the ground?”
“They tried to land a regiment,” replied the soldier. “Our `mechs probably took out a battalion when they fought this morning.” He pointed at a location on his screen, “We have another dropship unloading here, about a hundred klicks to the south.”
As`Zaman looked at Gordon, “Captain, how long will it be dark outside?”
“Perhaps another six hours, at least,” she replied. “Are you suggesting that we attack?”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “If they are unloading, they will be at their most vulnerable –how are you set for artillery?”
The captain rubbed her cheek, “A pair of Snipers and two Chaparrals.”
The teen pulled his out his compad, “I need an idea of what we’re playing with.”


Battlemech Bays, 0100 Hours

“Captain Gordon briefed me on your story, Lord Mohammed,” said Major Wallace, a tall, muscular man with short, gray hair and a close-cropped beard.
The teen saluted the senior officer and shook his hand, impressed by the man’s firm, strong grip. “You run an impressive facility, sir, I feel honored.”
Wallace lowered his voice, “Listen, I don’t fully understand your situation but I know mine.” He looked up at the vaulted ceiling, “No matter what we do, my unit will disappear from the memory of humankind and this depot lay buried under the rubble of time to be fought over like the forgotten tomb of a long gone civilization.” He looked at Mohammed Bey, “I feel very much alive –I am not a shade or fleeting image in your dreams, Captain.” He looked at his calloused hands for a moment. “Perhaps you are the shade, a vision of a bleak future sent back as a witness to confirm our existence, our value in the Grand Scheme of this universe –you will tell our story so that our forgotten lives will be known to humanity once more and perhaps our struggle will have some meaning.”
The teen seemed lost in thought, trying to piece together all that he had seen and heard. “I promise,” replied As`Zaman. “I shall relate your story to remind as many people as possible of your fight here so that you will be immortal in humanity’s memory.” He looked up at the massive battlemech that a team of technicians patched and repainted. “Major, is that your Highlander?” He gazed up at the assault battlemech, rapt in awe.
The officer nodded, “Aye that it is.”


South Plains, 0230 Hours

“A dozen battlemechs and several vehicles, the last remnants of the disbanded 370th Royal Battlemech Division, also known as the ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie Division’, made their way across the sparsely wooded plain, escorted by a handful of fleet hovercraft called Zephyrs that provided defense from enemy scanners.” Mohammed Bey narrated the small attack force’s progress as they stealthily approached the Rim Worlds Republic dropship. He tried to interview as many of the pilots and crews before they set out, recording their names and duties, their homes and their thoughts. The light battlemech pilots welcomed the teen’s company; most of them had seen the Azami youth’s performance in the skirmish on the previous morning.
Confident about their security, the Rim Worlds Republic Overlord unloaded their battlemechs, vehicles and supplies at a leisurely pace. An artillery missile slammed into the side of the dropship, sending ground crew scrambling as shells exploded among the lift vehicles and pallets of cargo.
The Highlander and a Bombardier crested a slight rise and loosed their missiles into the chaos. Mohammed Bey kept his eyes glued to his active sensors, “The Rifleman and Whitworth are active. He saw several more battlemech engines powering up. The pair of Kintaros launched clouds of inferno missiles at the parked infantry carriers and armored vehicles. One of the Crabs escorting the two swift battlemechs fired its lasers at a Victor just as it began to move. Captain Gordon’s Hussar broke off from the pack of light battlemechs to intercept a pair of Wasps that circled from the right side of the dropship. As`Zaman pushed his Mongoose beside the Mercury and circled a Hunchback on the left side of the dropship. Another missile exploded on the side of the dropship and ragged chunks of armor fell among the confusion around the landing zone.
A Locust flashed past the Mongoose –too fast for the teen to react and fire. The Mercury’s lasers raked the sprinting battlemech as it fled among the piles of burning cargo. “Sergeant Todd,” transmitted the teen, “stay away from the ramp –there’s an assault ‘mech emerging!”
“Roger, Mongoose,” replied the sergeant. He steered his Mercury right under the nose of the towering Cyclops, drawing fire as he passed. The youth held his breath and raced his Mongoose across the huge battlemech’s path as well.
The Rifleman advanced and took up position on a small hill and immediately challenged Major Wallace’s Highlander. The Major ignored the clumps of his battlemech’s armor torn by autocannon strikes and calmly dropped a Stinger with his gauss weapon.
In seconds, the Kintaros managed to set the Cyclops, Whitworth and Locust aflame and attached missile beacons on them as well. The Bombardier stood on a small rise and let massive clouds of long-range missiles fly.
The dropship burned, gaping holes ripped in its surface by the merciless rain of shells and missiles. Littered with flaming equipment and debris, the landing zone became a hellish scene where terrified crewmembers scrambled for cover and avoided the thundering feet of battling titans.
One leg torn away, the Rifleman fired its paired autocannon and lasers in defiance before collapsing onto the ground. The Cyclops attempted to lead an organized charge but fell under concentrated fire. The falling assault battlemech directed its weapons at the closest Crab. The Star League battlemech stumbled and fell among the pallets of furiously burning supplies.
Mohammed Bey adjusted his active probe’s display, “The Hunchback’s main weapon is destroyed!” The Firefly, Mercury and Falcon pounced on the fifty-ton enemy battlemech, knocked it to the ground and kicked at it until the pilot shut down its fusion engine. Cover with flaming gel, the Locust staggered into the Mongoose’s path. Out of instinct, the teen blasted at it with all of his lasers. The Rim Worlds Republic ‘mech seemed to lift into the air when its stored ammunition exploded and sent blazing shards flying in all directions.
The Arkab youth twisted his environmental controls as the heat in his cockpit suddenly leaped.
“All Highland elements, you may fall back,” ordered Major Wallace. “The enemy has broken.”
“Aye, that may be sir,” replied Sergeant Davis, whose Crab fired its main lasers at the fleeing battlemechs. “We should finish off th’ feckless poltroons, that’s what I say!”
“We have lost one of our number and must return to shelter, lad –I expect the warship to make another appearance and there will be fighters hunting us before sunrise,” reminded the senior officer. “Let us repair to our depot.”


0430 Hours

“Is it true that you popped that annoying Locust?” Sergeant Todd was making idle conversation on the long run back to the valley.
As`Zaman sighed and keyed his microphone, “Yes, it is true but the ‘mech was already damaged –I just lucked out.” There was subdued chuckling over the frequency.
“No need to be modest, boy,” said Sergeant Menzies. “We light ‘mechs fight as a team –few of us could drop another ‘mech without help of the others.”
Sergeant Stuart chimed in, “They’re right, boyo.” Stuart’s Falcon lacked its left arm and had lost most of the armor from its left side. “We caught ‘em wi’ their trews doon -ye did good, laddie.”
“Please address the Lord Captain with the respect due his rank and station,” instructed Captain Gordon, her own Hussar was severely damaged, it’s left torso barely held together by its internal structure and the center torso gaped open, stripped bare.
“Aye, ma’am,” returned a chorus of chastened voices.
Major Wallace broke in on the general frequency, “Hostile aerospace inbound –stay close to your Zephyr escorts, make your best speed to the depot.”
A chill ran down Mohammed Bey’s spine –this was something for which the Sun Tzu School never really trained. He set his speed and eyed his satellite feed. The targets on his screen sped toward the landing zone and circled over the area for a minute before continuing north.
“We’re not going to make it,” muttered Captain Smythe. His Champion charged into the ranks of the enemy after the Cyclops fell. He knocked over the Catapult and caused several of the Rim Worlds Republic battlemechs to flee the fight. “I’ll stay back and lead them away.”
“I’ll stay back with him,” added Captain Dowsett. He slowed his Bombardier and turned.
“Negative,” commanded the Major. “I know you have little or no ammunition left –let’s have no heroics.”
As`Zaman watched the cluster of fast-moving targets as they approached the strung-out formation of fleeing battlemechs, hovercraft and artillery vehicles. The low-flying formation of twenty-four attack aircraft roared overhead, unable to locate the targets in the pre-dawn darkness. The teen let out a sigh of relief as the targets on his screen turned east.
The sky gradually paled and Mohammed Bey watched the satellite feed with concern, “Hostile aerospace inbound!” He could see the valley not three kilometers away. The targets on his screen began to form up into pairs. “They are getting ready to make their attack runs.” More targets appeared on his screen.
“Dropships and landing craft,” reported Captain Gordon. “Major…”
The Highlander and Bombardier were the slowest machines in the formation and half the attackers made these battlemechs the main targets of their bombs. Two of the attacking aerofighters spiraled into the ground before the ‘mechs’ icons disappeared.
“This is Captain Gordon, to all Highland elements,” ordered the Captain. “Scatter and get back to the depot as best as you are able.”
Mohammed Bey complied and broke off from the formation of light battlemechs. He made his best speed from one stand of trees to another, eyeing his satellite feed to avoid the path of roving attack aero. In the distance, bombs fell and he could see icons, both friendly and enemy, fade out as he approached the depot’s entrance.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

The tall grass still burned in spots. Mohammed Bey stood on the Southern Plain and strode among the wreckage of battle. He recognized the remains of the Star League battlemechs, torn and strewn across several kilometers along the line of retreat. Only a handful of light battlemechs and the faster hovercraft managed to make it to the safety of the underground depot. The sun stood high in the clear sky and the slight breeze carried wisps of smoke above the trees.
There were more dropships in the distance. The youth could see columns of dark smoke on the horizon. As`Zaman turned to face the north. Fires still burned fiercely on the sides of the valleys and he could see smoking craters high above the ridges.
“Young Sotnik!”
The Azami pilot was startled at first at the distant voice; he glanced over his shoulder and saw Gavrilo, cringing in fright with his back to a tree. “Ey, Kozak –are the horses fed? Are the blades sharp?”
The old Kozak straightened; he clutched his large, silver Orthodox crucifix to his chest. “Yes, my brother, the horse are fed, our blades are sharp.” He caste about, fear still in his eyes, “Are you slain, young Sotnik? You were reported missing this morning.”
Mohammed Bey frowned at the question, “I fear that I cannot answer with certainty, my brother,” he replied. “I would guess that I hover somewhere between life and eternity, given a task as is Allah’s wont.”
The elder Kozak raised the crucifix as if warding away a threat, “Leave me, evil shades! Holy Mary, drive them away!” He looked to the teen, “Do you not see them? Do you not hear their voices?”
In an unconscious motion, As`Zaman reached to grasp the talisman his mother had given him on the day he left Dabih. The talisman burned in his grip and blinding pain lanced through his skull.

“Young Sotnik…”
Mohammed Bey knelt in darkness, his eyes closed. He heard the muted cacophony of dozens of voices, each reciting what sounded like names, ranks and a series of numbers. The pain inside of his head felt like a hammer blow with every heartbeat.
“Lieutenant Martinez, Diego; 75th Attack Wing; One one four, zero niner six.”
“Ensign Palmer, Edmund; Star Rider; Two zero five, one five seven.”
“Captain Kellerman, Thomas; 335th Royal Dragoon Regiment; Two zero five, one five seven.”
The teen’s eyes opened and despite the purple darkness, he could see that countless shapes surrounded him. These shapes glowed with dim golden light. Mohammed Bey rose to his feet, “Brother Gavrilo, I now understand.” The surroundings began to fade.
“Beware of those who have come out of the darkness,” shouted Gavrilo, his voice drifting away.

Star League Periphery Depot #1134, -58/1061, February 3, 2768, 1230 Hours

As`Zaman rolled to a sitting position on his bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He donned his uniform and made his way to the command center.
Captain Gordon leaned over a console and looked up as the teen walked into the room. Like the others, she looked tired and grim.
“Captain Gordon,” said the teen, “you should rest.”
“Impossible,” she replied. “More dropships have landed…”
“And three of your defense turrets have been destroyed,” said Mohammed Bey. He looked at one of the monitors, “They will infiltrate this depot through the wrecked turrets using a combination of commando squads and regular infantry.”
“How do you know all that?” asked Gordon. She looked away for a moment, “Alright, what do we do?”
“You want to deny this depot –we have to destroy the main power plant, any backups and ensure that the enemy cannot access the storage areas,” said As`Zaman. He looked at the now silent crew at the consoles. “If anyone wants to surrender, they had better do it now because once we seal up the depot, nobody goes home.”
“Sergeant Grant,” ordered Captain Gordon. “Please escort the Lord Captain to the armory.”


Armory, 1300 Hours

Mohammed Bey winced as he hefted one of the weapons from the rack, “This is the legendary Mauser 960?” He returned it to its place, “There’s no wonder no military uses them,” muttered the teen. “Overpriced piece of rubbish.” He pulled a smaller automatic rifle from the rack, “These and some grenades –we’ll be fighting in close quarters…” He looked up. “Bayonets for everyone –and I don’t mean those stupid vibro-blade toys, either.”
Sergeant Grant held up an armored jacket, “These too, sir?”
“Helmets and night vision equipment as well, sergeant,” replied As`Zaman. He looked over the map printout Captain Gordon had given to him and looked over a list of equipment. “Dispatch the teams to these points –and have them hold at all costs.”


Battlemech Bay, 1430 Hours

“Captain Gordon, tell your people they have to hurry,” commented Mohammed Bey. “Stockpile food and supplies to last the siege but don’t expect any relief to arrive any time soon.” The teen reached behind his pilot’s seat and drew out a long, curved blade.
“I realize that,” replied the captain. “You don’t plan to use that thing, do you?”
“We have to convince the enemy that they cannot afford to take this depot,” said As`Zaman as he climbed from the scaffold. “The fighting will be close and among equipment that doesn’t react well to bullets and shrapnel.”
Gordon put her hand to her earpiece, “Turret number two is under attack.”
“Huh, they should be attacking all three,” commented the teen. He broke into a run and headed for the lift. “I’m heading to the reactor.”
Captain Gordon chased after him, “You’ll need me to get through security.”
The lift door closed. “What is stored here that would make them risk a small warship in a duel with your defense turrets?” As`Zaman asked. He inspected his ammunition clip and slapped it into his weapon.
Gordon shook her head; “My first guess is the store of rations enough to feed a division on a long campaign.”
“Food?” he asked. “They’re a long way from home –I’ll take your word for it, captain.”
“I’m no senior officer, Lord Captain,” she replied, “I only have an idea of what’s stored here.”
Mohammed Bey looked over the map, “The corridors in this place are large enough for a battlemech to walk through.”
“You don’t plan to fight inside do you?”
“How long will it take to destroy the reactor?” asked the teen. “I don’t mean damaging parts of it with explosives.”
“It will take some time to remove the safety features,” answered Gordon. “You want us to trigger a full meltdown, right?”
“Isn’t that the idea?” said the teen. The lift doors slid open and a handful of armored soldiers snapped to attention. “You guys aren’t ready,” said As`Zaman. “Have the technicians remove all the protective covers from the consoles –I want it clear that everything in this area is vulnerable.” He looked around the cavernous area, “How long before we can meltdown?”
One of the technicians looked up from the collection of machinery, “My Lord, at least three hours to circumvent the safety features in place.”
Mohammed Bey looked at Captain Gordon, “That’s not good, captain, we have to…”
Gordon touched her earpiece, “The enemy is attacking the other two turrets!”
“It’s about time…” He looked at the squad defending the reactor. “Sergeant, throw together whatever barricades you can to hold this place.” He looked over his map one last time and stuffed it into a pocket.
“Use the Sentinels, Lord Captain,” said a calm, female voice.
“I didn’t see any Sentinels in the bays,” commented As`Zaman. He looked to the busy soldiers, “Who suggested that?”
Captain Gordon swallowed.
“Not Sentinel battlemechs,” answered the voice. The teen quickly surmised that the voice came from the exposed speakers. A screen above the control console displayed a map of the depot. “We have six of them in the indicated storage areas.” Three locations glowed with red outlines. “Each Sentinel is a self-contained artificial intelligence mobile security unit.”
“Great, you have robots,” muttered As`Zaman. He stepped up to the monitor and touched the screen, “How soon can we get them to these choke points?”
“The Sentinels have been remotely activated and are on their way, sir,” replied the voice.
“Good work,” said Mohammed Bey. “Whom am I speaking with?”
“Lieutenant Margaret Shelley,” interrupted Captain Gordon. “Thank you Lieutenant, you’ve been very helpful.”
The teen studied the diagram of interconnected corridors, “Captain Gordon, have the defending squads pull back to these intersections.” He pointed to highlighted areas.
“Squads One and Three are pulling back,” reported the officer. “Squad Two is unable to break away.”
Mohammed Bey strode to the lift and punched the controls; “Have Sergeant Grant and his team meet me at the intersection of Blue and Orange Corridors.”


Orange Corridor, 1445 Hours

The eight soldiers of Second Squad holed up in a pair of rooms off Orange Corridor. The lead commando team managed to set up a machinegun that swept the complete length of the long passage. With half their men wounded, Second Squad could not make it down the last fifty meters to the lift.

The lift opened and a bulky figure lumbered out into the corridor. The machinegun rattled and brilliant green tracers filled the broad passage. Sergeant Grant smiled as bullets bounced off his ballistic plate armor like just so many flies against a windshield. The popping chorus of half a dozen submachine guns added to the futile hail of metal. The sergeant squeezed the trigger of his automatic grenade launcher and a mixed burst of high explosive and smoke rounds landed among the Rim Worlds Republic soldiers.
“Go! Go! Go!” shouted Mohammed Bey over his communicator. Six figures rushed down the corridor and disappeared into the billowing clouds.
“Second Squad, move to the lift immediately!” transmitted Sergeant Grant. He crouched by the open lift door and peered at chaos at the far end of the corridor. Using his thermal sights, he could see men fighting. A pair of submachine guns chattered and men screamed.
“Enemy neutralized,” reported As`Zaman. “Second Squad, you may pull back.”
The corridor filled with retreating figures from Second Squad, three men requiring assistance. Sergeant Grant noted that the air filters kicked in and cleared the smoke almost as fast as the smoke grenades burned. At the far end of the corridor, he could see five men with assault rifles, bayonets fixed and gleaming black with blood.
The muffled rattle of submachine gun fire echoed in the distance. “Sergeant Grant, we have a hostile squad moving up White Corridor.” The familiar pop of aimed assault rifle fire answered the enemy’s attacks. “Nine commandos dead, no casualties –we are pulling back,” announced Mohammed Bey as he shook the blood from his curved blade.

The sliding doors shut and the lift descended. As`Zaman looked over his crumpled map, “The next level is where our defenses are critical –there are three independent lifts to the three key points,” remarked the teen. “One lift leads to the living quarters, the next to the bays and the last to the reactor,” he tapped the map. “If they have sufficient numbers, they could overwhelm the defenders, especially if the reactor is still online.”


Blue Corridor, 1530 Hours

The lift doors opened and the Rim Worlds Republic corporal extended his telescoping instrument and peered at the mirror, he signaled to his fellow commandos, indicating five visible defenders. Two men prepared grenades and whipped them down the corridor, making certain the explosives bounced unpredictably. The pair ducked behind cover before the reacting defenders could squeeze off bursts of auto rifle fire.
Trusting in their armor, the five-man team dashed out into the corridor. The first commando raked the first prone defender with half a clip of bullets. Two commandos tumbled to the ground, shrieking in pain. Ten Rim Worlds Republic regulars stormed out of the lift and pumped rounds into the remaining defenders at spitting range. Elated, the regulars rushed down the corridor toward the next lift and stopped dead at the sight of what appeared to be a pair of small vehicles blocking their way.
Half a dozen rifles sprayed at the Sentinels sitting twenty meters away. The two machines aimed their twin lasers into the mass of soldiers and mowed the men down where they stood.


Reactor Core, 1530 Hours

“The defenders assigned to the living quarters are dead,” reported Lieutenant Shelley. “The infiltrators are unable to overcome the Sentinels for the moment.”
“It will take them some time to bring up the heavy weapons required to defeat your security robots,” commented As`Zaman. “We still have a couple more hours before the last safely features are overridden.”
Captain Gordon sighed, “There goes my book collection.”
Mohammed Bey raised an eyebrow, “Book collection? They wouldn’t happen to be published in Quebec, would they?”
The officer frowned, “Yes, they are.”
“Don’t worry, they will eventually wind up in good care, captain,” said the teen. He strode to the lift. “I’ll be defending the battlemech bays.”
Captain Gordon rushed to his side, “I am a mechwarrior, and I may as well fight in my mount.” She looked to Sergeant Grant, who adjusted the leather baldric over his ballistic plate. “Sergeant Grant, I trust you can hold this position until the technicians are completed.”
“Yes, ma’am!” announced Grant. He drew the basket-hilted backsword from its sheath and saluted.


Battlemech Bays, 1600 Hours

Sergeant Todd shrugged as he climbed into his Mercury’s cockpit, “I’m going to give the reactor defenders a little backup.”
Captain Gordon casually sipped her tea while a dozen technicians feverishly patched her Hussar and retouched the inscription on the side that read, “The Flower of Scotland.”
As`Zaman sat in the cockpit of his Mongoose and monitored the gradually failing defenses. He noted that the enemy overran the command center yet Lieutenant Shelley continued her reports. “Lieutenant,” he inquired, “what is you present position?”
“Lord Captain,” replied Shelley, “I am presently in the reactor area.”


Red Corridor, 1615 Hours

One of the Sentinels lay on its side and burned and the other Sentinel’s pockmarked armor smoked as it fired its remaining laser. A volley of shoulder-launched missiles tore the last robot apart and the Rim Worlds Republic soldiers jubilantly advanced to the lift. One of the soldiers used an identity card taken from one of the fallen Star League defenders, used it to summon the lift and smiled as the lift arrived on their floor. The soldiers readied their weapons and waited for the doors to open.

Inside the lift, Sergeant Todd keyed his external loudspeakers when the lift’s doors slid open to reveal a squad of regulars with their submachine guns at the ready, “Guten Tag!” He swept the corridor with his Mercury’s lasers and chuckled at the missiles that slapped the side of his mount when it stepped into the hall.


Battlemech Bays, 1700 Hours

Mohammed As`Zaman observed the slow advance of the Rim Worlds Republic troops on his Mongoose’s monitors. He scrolled through the various sensor and camera selections before pausing to view what appeared to be a massive jumpship. A small fireball erupted on one of the craft’s sides. “What the…”
“That would be a heavy cruiser, Lord Captain,” said Lieutenant Shelley.
“What are you attacking that thing with?” asked the youth. “You aren’t using your turrets.”
“Negative, sir,” she replied, “I have only two turrets remaining and I’m saving them.” Several circles appeared on the display. “The enemy vessel is in low orbit and I have been steering satellites into it at hypervelocity. We have about a dozen left.”
“Incredible,” muttered the teen.
“I have a pair of fifty-ton storm inhibitors yet to line up,” commented the officer.


Reactor Core, 1745 Hours

“Overrides complete,” announced one of the technicians. “Critical meltdown in five minutes.”
Sergeant Grant crouched behind stacked pallets and protective paneling. The fighting on the upper floor echoed down the shaft –Sergeant Todd’s Mercury danced in and out of the lift and traded fire with the heavy support weapons the enemy dragged through the smashed turrets on the ridges above the valleys. The Mercury’s external speakers no longer functioned –Todd kept up a tirade of insults and taunts for almost an hour where he nearly drove the enemy from the floor. Despite the charred corpses heaped along the long corridors, the enemy threw more men into the meat grinder as time dragged on.
A rumble shook the very walls and everyone in the reactor room knew Sergeant Todd’s battlemech had fallen. Sergeant Grant scowled when he heard the chorus of cheers from the upper floor. He signaled the defenders to prepare their grenades when he heard the lift begin its descent.
Explosions shook the room and a squad of Rim Worlds Republic regulars swarmed from the lift, each armed with a pair of vibro-daggers. The Security team met the invaders, laser pistols crackling, their alloy billy clubs parried and struck. Screams of pain echoed through the cavernous chamber.
“The meltdown sequence has begun, Sergeant,” said Lieutenant Shelley; her voice flowed calmly from the speaker. “Do your best to make your way to the Battlemech Bays.”
Sergeant Grant nodded, “Aye, ma’am.” He led the remaining members of the technician team around the central fusion core, backsword raised in his right fist; his left hand gripped a long-bladed highland dirk and an ornate targe shield protected his left forearm as he charged into the fray. The first Rim Worlds soldier’s head leapt from his shoulders as the heavy highland sword whistled through the air in a flashing arc. A second crumpled to the floor when the burly sergeant landed a shield-covered punch to his face. Vibro-daggers slashed and the seasoned warrior struck out with his small shield, punching at the soldier’s wrists to negate the vibro-dagger’s effectiveness. In a whirling dance of death, the sergeant cut down the last two soldiers, splitting the last from shoulder to navel.
Grant felt the building heat from the fusion core as he led the last four techs to the lift. Alarms blared and lights flashed as coolant pumps shut down in response to the reactor’s overridden safety features.
The lift’s doors slid open and two more squads of men poured into the chamber.


Battlemech Bays, 1750 Hours

The technician at the Hussar’s feet gave a “thumbs up” signal and Captain Gordon tapped a button on her console. A heavy cable ran from her battlemech’s left ankle to a wall power outlet. The Bay area’s lights dimmed for a moment indicating the reactor’s failure. The captain closed her eyes and crossed herself.
The technicians cut the power to the lift. Explosions from the upper shaft indicated that the enemy had not given up.
“They are fools if they think that we’d let anything less than a battlemech exit that shaft alive,” commented Mohammed Bey. Several pallets of spare parts, armor plates and cargo vehicles surrounded the lift and the last fifty or so technicians, vehicle crews and battlemech pilots crouched in a semicircle behind cover and waited for the last assault.
“It is time for you to go, Lord Captain,” said Lieutenant Shelley, “your job here is finished.”
As`Zaman smiled, “It is good to hear your voice, lieutenant.” He glanced at his displays, “What is your assessment?”
“The warship has been severely damaged and now that Captain Gordon’s Hussar is providing power to my systems,” reported Shelley. “I have the ability to prevent this base from falling into enemy hands.”
The teen’s attention turned to the lift –the doors slid open, forced by a dozen pair of hands and a massive hail of fire poured into the mass of soldiers. Not one of the attackers managed to get more than two steps from the lift. More soldiers slid down ropes to the bottom of the shaft only to be cut down before they could react. Captain Gordon joined the ranks of the defenders as dozens of soldiers poured into the shaft; some took cover behind the piles of bodies and returned fire. The soldiers above lowered a cable with large, metal plate, possibly part of one of the lift’s doors, and this provided cover for more soldiers. Smoke filled the bays and Mohammed Bey switched to thermal imaging. He fired a laser into the metal plate and melted half of it away. Screams rang out and fires burned as molten metal splashed over the growing mound of dead.
“There is a company of medium and heavy battlemechs scattered through the valley,” reported Shelley. “You have the speed to avoid them and I still have the hidden defense systems –set your IFF accordingly.”
“IFF set,” reported As`Zaman. “Lieutenant, I must admit you are the most sophisticated Artificial Intelligence that I have ever interfaced with.”
“Captain Gordon could have told you, Lord Captain As`Zaman,” replied the lieutenant. “I am part of the Star League Augmented Intelligence Neural Transference Experiment,” she replied. “Not artificial at all, really.”
“I see, that’s how you could be everywhere on this facility,” reasoned the youth. “This is only a depot, I would imagine that you’d be more valuable controlling a Castle Brian.”
A map appeared on one of the displays, “This is the mountain range,” said the lieutenant. “Presently, the depot only occupies a dozen or so kilometers. Had this project been carried to full fruition, this facility would have been the model for all future Castle Brian designs.” The image on the display expanded to show a network that spanned the continent -over twenty thousand kilometers from one end to the other.
“And you are…?”
“My brain, a computer core its support equipment are literally sealed in a slab of ferrocrete between the command center and the reactor,” said Shelley. “My backup power is suppose to last for centuries but I need the fusion reactors of both remaining Hussars to operate the defenses –and they will barely withstand the drain.” The display changed to show an external map. “I’ll be opening the main access door for you, make your best speed to these coordinates –I have reserved a couple of satellites for this purpose.” Explosions rocked the bays. “We don’t have much time –when you leave, you’ll be getting a lot of attention. Once I start firing the local defense turrets, the cruiser will target them.”
“And you will use the last of your planetary defense weapons,” concluded As`Zaman.

The Mongoose sprinted from the concealed entrance and dashed toward the heavily wooded valley wall. He observed enemy targets on his satellite display as well as intermittent targets –defense turrets firing at the ground targets closest to his position. “Providing cover fire as I move,” he muttered. “Thanks, lieutenant.”
Thunder poured from the sky and a laser battery on a valley ridge exploded, struck by one of the orbiting cruiser’s weapons. A turret launched a hail of missiles at a nearby enemy target and Mohammed Bey steered his Mongoose through the trees to see a Rim Worlds Republic Whitworth staggering. He raked the back of the Whitworth with his lasers, kicked the wounded machine and sent it sprawling before he continued on his way.

The cluster of buildings in North Farm burned. The Mongoose stood alone under the dense canopy of ancient trees and observed the battle between the Star League depot and the Rim Worlds Republic warship. The sky glowed and thundered with each volley of laser fire. Dropships rose into the air. As`Zaman noted that all enemy icons had pulled away. The battle was over.


North Farm, August 13, 3038, 1845 Hours

“I’m sorry ma’am,” replied the officer in charge of the Search and Rescue teams. He spoke to Kapten Anderssen over the radio. “If he was here, we would have found him.” The man stepped out of the way as a recovery vehicle rumbled into the clearing where the Mongoose lay. “Yes, I am aware of it but none of our…” He looked at his receiver locator and noticed that an emergency transmitter pulsed nearby. “Well, I’ll be…”

Mohammed Bey shook the cobwebs from his brain as the recovery crew helped him from the cockpit of his Mongoose. All he wanted to do was sleep.
“There is no possible way that he was in his ‘mech all this time,” announced the officer. “This has to be some manner of joke.”
A medic examined As`Zaman’s medipack and jumped, “This man has used over three doses of Crash and Burn! Take him to the field hospital immediately.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

The cadets filed into the dimly lit auditorium and took their seats.
Cadet Mohammed As`Zaman Bey stood up when a younger, female cadet took the seat next to his. He noted that she wore a newly issued uniform, “Ah, you must be one of the new cadets –this is my second year.”
The girl smiled. Even in the dark, her eyes shone with a wistful humor. The cadet returned her smile.
“Please allow me to introduce myself,” he whispered. He kept his voice low and kept watch for the instructors. “I am Cadet Lieutenant Mohammed As`Zaman Bey.”
“Rachel Benhaddad,” replied the girl. “You are right, I just arrived here yesterday.” She nodded to him, “You must be one of the Azami.” The girl shivered, “It’s so cold in here.”
“Yes, there are quite a few of us here.” The cadet took her hand. Her delicate fingers were cold. He rubbed her hand between his, “Is that better?”
She clasped her hands around his, “Yes, much better.” She held his hand through the entire orientation session.


Field Hospital, Assembly Point Thule, August 15, 3038, 0215 Hours

Mohammed Bey opened his eyes. The room was dark and the small lights of the medical monitoring equipment were but blurry spots of light in the darkness. His left hand felt warm and he realized that somebody held onto it. A shadow sat beside him and in the blurry shades of black and gray, he could discern a woman’s figure. He squeezed her hand.
The figure stirred, “Mohammed?” It was Tanaka. “Mohammed, can you hear me?”
He squeezed her hand once more and managed to whisper, “Yes.”
She knelt beside him and gripped his hand with both of her hands, “Oh, Mohammed, we thought we had lost you!”
He struggled to sit up and felt the tug of tubes and sensor wires, “Water.”


0500 Hours

“All righty, you appear to have recovered in record time,” Dr. Reese shrugged. “I wish those people from North Farm left more samples of the antibiotics they administered to you and some of the other wounded.”
“What do you mean?” As`Zaman asked. “Did they leave?”
“Pretty bloody amazing, I’d say,” commented the doctor. “Not twenty hours after the Raiders left –their dropships must have been waiting to see the outcome of the fight.”
Mohammed Bey stood up, “Doctor, am I cleared for active duty?” He buttoned his shirt.
The doctor stepped back and looked over his clipboard, “Physically, I can’t see why not.” The doctor paused, “You really don’t believe in those hallucinations you had, do you?”
Mohammed Bey chuckled, “Oh no, not at all –those were just vivid dreams.”
Dr. Reese signed the papers, “Just take it easy.”
The teen stopped at the door. “What is the Friherr’s condition?”
Reese shook his head, “He’s still in serious condition and it looks bad –those Trolls managed to penetrate the Hunchback’s cockpit.”

Mohammed Bey sat down next to Friherr Bödvar’s bed. The prone figure lay swathed in bandages, the only light in the room being those of the monitoring equipment. “Sir,” whispered the youth. The Overste’s eyes were open. “I have spoken with Dr. Reese and I truly hope that his pessimism is misplaced.”
The Friherre closed his eyes for a moment then whispered, “I thank you for your concern, Kapten As`Zaman.” He showed some effort in his reply. “We fought well and to my sorrow, I have no rewards for those who have followed me so far.” There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “I sought a great treasure to regain my family’s prestige in the eyes of our nation and I have failed.”
The teen shook his head, “No, sir… That isn’t true.” He then told the Friherr of his visit to the underground depot, the massive battle he witnessed and the great stores of supplies the have yet to recover.

When the youth finished his story, the injured leader gripped his arm. “I believe you,” he whispered. “I have seen shadows waiting for my passing and I have grieved that I leave this existence with nothing more than a damaged battlemech and a vain dream.” He pulled the youth close, “We have a Skald but you must tell those of the Inner Sphere of the Warriors of Tyr so that we do not disappear from the memory of man.”
“That I pledge, Friherr,” promised the teen. The teen felt the grip on his arm loosen and he stood up. “I shall see that your promise to your people is kept.”


North Farm, 0730 Hours

The Mongoose strode between the remaining buildings; Tanaka’s Jenner followed sixty meters behind. Satisfied, Mohammed Bey keyed his radio, “I, Mohammed As`Zaman Bey officially claim this valley, known as North Farm, and its contents in the name of Kahman Mercantile under the provisions of salvage regulations and protocols as recognized by the governments of the Inner Sphere.” He switched frequencies, “Leila, did you get that?’
“Loud and clear,” she replied. “I can’t believe that the Friherr’s followers neglected the most basic post-battle protocol.”
“I wouldn’t be so hard on Kapten Anderssen and the others,” said As`Zaman. “They are soldiers first.” He reset his navigation equipment, “Let’s head back to Thule.”

“I must say, my Mongoose is operating better than ever,” commented the teen. “I’ll have to find a way to reward Ali for his work.”
“Believe it or not,” commented Leila. “The technicians from North Farm worked around the clock to restore all of our equipment damaged in the last fight.” She added, “You should see Altmark when he takes the Warhammer on patrol.”
“By the way,” began the youth. “Has anyone written up the after-action report?”
There was silence for a moment. “Oh, I guess I may as well just tell you…”
“Well, what is it?” As`Zaman asked her. “Did they drop the ball on that as well?”
Tanaka sighed and sheepishly replied, “Okay, even I admit that I messed up.” She had hoped that Kapten Anderssen had the burden of telling him. “After the battle, we were so concerned for our losses and the possibility of the Raiders returning that when the people of North Farm volunteered to tend the wounded as well as help with repairs, we welcomed them with open arms.” She continued, “Their medical technicians worked wonders –you recovered in less than half the expected time.”
Mohammed Bey nodded. “I’ll allow that but what does that have to do with the after action reports?”
Leila said, “They took the battle ROMs –all of them.”
“What?”
“The technicians from North Farm,” she explained. “They seemed so thankful and earnest with their offers to assist us –they even supplied all the replacement parts and armor we required.” She admitted, “Even I trusted them. By the time we figured that they had swapped our memory chips with blanks they had packed up and departed.”
The teen reviewed his battle recordings. “They only removed the information of our fight with the Raiders.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand…”


The Tyrfing, 0900 Hours

“Just like clockwork,” muttered Master Navigator Hrafn. He calculated the speed of the three dropships heading toward Midgard then raised the command center at Assembly Point Thule. “Lojtnant Altmark, it appears that another group of Raiders has arrived –these are more scavengers who pick over Raiders’ leavings although they are not to be taken lightly.” The Master Navigator nodded, “Yes, I’d give them about five days -they are taking their time.”


St. Andrew’s Plantation, 0900 Hours

Two Miner Quads removed tons of dirt and debris from the base of the ridge under the watch of the Mongoose and Jenner. Mohammed Bey monitored his sensors and frowned, he was not getting the expected readings if this portion of the mountain was hollow. The debris of reinforced ferrocrete matched the criteria for outer bunker construction.
“Are you certain you just didn’t have a drug-induced hallucination?” asked Leila. “I mean, there should be more left of a planetary defense turret.” She was about to turn her Jenner around to leave when she muttered, “Oh, my…”
One of the Miners uncovered a huge section of metal, molten in sections but recognizable as a weapon barrel a dozen meters long and weighing over ten tons.
Encouraged, Mohammed Bey keyed his radio, “That’s it, Sergeant Lindholm, didn’t I tell you we were just under one of the main turrets?”
The industrial machine dragged the wreckage clear of the mound of debris. “This is amazing, Kapten.” The sergeant maneuvered his quad backward and pulled the barrel section free. The small crowd that gathered to observe the work cheered and the sergeant took a moment to wave in acknowledgment.

Mohammed Bey tapped his communication screen in response to an incoming transmission. Kapten Anderssen’s face appeared. “Kapten As`Zaman, you cannot be serious in claiming North Farm as well as the area indicated along the mountain range.”
“Nonsense,” answered the teen. “I am more than familiar with the laws regarding salvage –I suggest you refer to the commander of the Blood Ember, he signed my document as a witness.”
“Lojtnant Magnussen is already accusing you of trying to steal the salvage for your self,” said the officer.
“Wasn’t he the one who scoffed at my story?” chuckled As`Zaman. “Anyway, it was in the interest of preserving our rights of salvage that I took action –after all, Kahman Mercantile still has a contract with the Friherr.”
“Well, the Friherr is unable to perform his duties,” she reminded the Azami youth.
“I am well aware of that,” said Mohammed Bey. “Unlike Magnussen, I haven’t buried the Overste yet.”


The Blood Ember, 1215 Hours

The Mongoose backed into its bay and shut down. Ali quickly opened the access panels above the battlemech’s heel and attached the cables that sent information to the diagnostic equipment on a nearby cart.
Mohammed Bey climbed from the cockpit and removed his neural helmet. He waved to his technician and took his time descending the ladder. “Give it a good checking out –I want to know if those people from North Farm did anything else.”
Ali stood at attention and saluted, “It is good to see you safe and healthy, Master.”
“Thank you, Ali,” As`Zaman returned the salute. “I trust that you, Shakira and Nikki are alright as well.”
The technician’s jaw dropped, “Uh, sir…”
Tanaka’s Jenner clambered into its bay, drowning out the conversation. The Combine pilot popped open the top access hatch after shutting down and emerged, “Kapten As`Zaman, wait for me!”
Slightly annoyed by the distraction, Mohammed Bey turned back to his servant, “Ali is there something wrong?”
“Master, it’s about Nikki…” he had practiced this speech for the last two days and he still had trouble.
“Ali,” said Leila, “go back to work –I’ll tell him.”


1400 Hours

As`Zaman stood amid a cleared field dotted with small grave markers. The burned wreckage of the tractor and haulers had been dragged to one side of the road that connected the valleys. The grave markers seemed to have been placed where piles of bodies lay, cut down by lasers or trampled underfoot by the pursuing Raider. “How did this happen?”
Tanaka related the story as told by a tearful Shakira. The servant was the one who recognized the child’s body.
He looked down at the bronze marker, engraved with “Nikki” and a curious stylized wolf’s head. A charred Kozak doll lay on the snow-flecked dirt. The teen stood motionless for several minutes.
“Mohammed…”
The Azami youth did not answer.
“We have to get back,” reminded Tanaka. “The Raiders have returned –or at least those who follow them.”
“Generators.”
“What?”
“I need lights,” he said. “There is work to do.”


St. Andrew’s Plantation, 1700 Hours

Darkness had set and a pair of portable generators purred as the powered a set of light towers. While the mining quads toiled at the base of the ridge, Mohammed Bey and Ali searched along the base of the mountain unaffected by the slide. “There should be a sensor panel here, about a hundred meters from the main portal.” He shined a hand torch along the path.
Ali moved the wand of his sensor pack along the rocky surface, “I haven’t found anything yet, Master.”
“We just have to be patient,” cautioned As`Zaman. “According to my active probe readings, it should be close.”

“Tell Lojtnant Magnussen to take a hike and stop harassing the people under my command,” said Mohammed Bey. He made certain that he transmitted that message on all open frequencies. “I have the Friherr’s support on this matter –it’s unfortunate that some of Overste Ulfgar’s subordinates disagree.”
Kapten Anderssen stifled a laugh, “I was just relaying another officer’s concern, Kapten As`Zaman.”
“Please inform that other officer what he may do with his concern,” replied the teen. “Kapten As`Zaman, out.”

Sergeant Torkelson scraped rock with the blade mounted on his quad, “Kapten As`Zaman, this is Torkelson –we’re hitting the mountainside now.”
“Good,” replied Mohammed Bey. “Clear the rest of the equipment to the markers I placed and take a break.”
“Master, I believe that I have found something!” exclaimed Ali. He cleared the sparse brush from around a small outcropping of stone.
As`Zaman tapped the stone’s face with a hammer. It gave a dull, hollow sound. It took a few minutes but the teen managed to clear the artificial façade from the seams and located the locking mechanism. “We will have to drill the lock.”
Ali stood up and signaled for a powered cart, “I’ll take care of that, Master.”
Mohammed Bey keyed his commlink, “Leila, have your Jenner ready in about fifteen minutes.

The Mongoose stood in the area cleared of rubble. The Jenner stood next to the mountainside, a thick cable led from its ankle to the open panel. Ali monitored diagnostic equipment mounted on a cart.
At a signal from Ali, Leila channeled power to the external outlet.
Mohammed Bey observed his sensors and transmitted the IFF code assigned in his vision. “Ali, what is your status?”
“The power is flowing, Master,” replied the technician. “I have all the settings as per Star League specifications.”
As`Zaman backed his battlemech sixty meters and adjusted his sensor gains. He smiled, “I see something.” The side of the ridge began to move. Dirt and bits of debris fell from the ridge wall. The teen could see the familiar outline of the depot’s entrance. He backed up his Mongoose another twenty meters. “Come on…” The wall rumbled for a moment then stopped. He stopped the IFF transmission. “Ali, maintain the power level for a few hours.” He hit his harness release, “Everybody, be back here in ten hours.”

Tanaka caught up with As`Zaman as he walked toward the shuttle, “Are you headed back to the dropship?”
The teen delayed his reply for a moment. “No,” he said. “I have rented a room at an inn and they promised to have a hot meal ready when I returned.”
“A hot meal?” asked Leila. She linked her arm around his. “Is there any chance of there being enough for two?”
A sudden feeling of nostalgia swept over him. He stopped, turned to face her and bowed. “Lojtnant Tanaka, I would consider it an honor if you would join me for a late dinner.”
The young woman returned the bow, “How gracious of you, Kapten As`Zaman. I accept, of course.”


1900 Hours

“Some of them appeared to be almost three meters tall,” said Leila. “And they fired heavy weapons like heavy machineguns and particle cannon from the hip.” The fire in the hearth burned low, in the flickering light and she reclined on a pile of cushions while she told Mohammed Bey what she saw amid the building during the battle at North Farm.
As`Zaman sat on a chair and puffed on a clay pipe. He listened to Tanaka’s story without a word.
“When the Raiders left, the giant soldiers returned to the remaining buildings,” she told him. “They were gone by the time the others showed up.”
Mohammed Bey blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and leaned forward, “What happened to the remains of the Trolls?” He recalled how the robots fought their way to the buildings.
“All gone,” replied Leila. “It is as if the people of North Farm wanted to erase all traces of the Raiders and their equipment.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’d say there is some relation between the settlers and the Raiders, something more than the settlers just being targets.”
“I have to agree,” commented the Azami teen. He stood up and stretched, “Would you like me to place another log on the fire?”
Leila shook her head, “I should get some rest.” She sat up. “Thank you for renting a room for me and paying for dinner.”
As`Zaman shrugged, “We have a lot of work tomorrow.” He helped Tanaka to her feet. Her long, silky hair was deep blue in the candlelight and she wore the same, subtle perfume that she wore when they attended the academy. Again, he felt that tinge of nostalgia, that feeling of a time so long ago and worlds away. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”


St. Andrew’s Plantation, August 16, 3038, 0430 Hours

Mohammed Bey keyed his microphone, “Full power, Ali.” He observed as the pair of fifty-ton quads waited next to the portal. He transmitted his IFF signal. He could see the energy flow register on his sensors. As with the earlier attempt, there was some noise of machinery but the door did not move. The teen leaned over his controls, thinking of the next step. An icon appeared on his communication screen. He touched the icon, “As`Zaman.”
The signal was weak but the your clearly heard a female voice. “Lord Captain, is that you?”
The teen closed his eyes and responded, “Aye, Lieutenant Shelley, this is Lord Captain Mohammed As`Zaman Bey.” He organized his thoughts and adjusted his transmitter/receiver settings. “Lieutenant, please state your status.”
A pause between responses lasted perhaps thirty seconds. “Lord Captain, Periphery Depot #1134 is in severe disrepair.” Again, there was a pause. “Many sensors are off line, I’m afraid…”
“Acknowledged, Lieutenant Shelley,” replied the youth. “The concealed entrance seems to be jammed; it may be a while before a team can enter.”
“Please accept my apologies, Lord Captain,” said Shelley. “I wish I could be of more assistance.”
“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant,” said As`Zaman. “Everything is going to be fine.”

The quads were fitted with cargo pallet lifting forks. The pilots calmly waited, occasionally revving the huge engines that powered their machines. Ali again applied power to the outlet. The entrance shook and began to rise. The quads belched dark smoke from their high stacks and the fork arms extended under the growing crack.
“Lift slowly,” commanded As`Zaman. He moved his Mongoose closer to observe the opening portal.
The quads crept forward; the lifting arms eased the camouflaged door up into the ridge. The entrance to the depot was dark. When the Mongoose closed to within twenty meters the door rose to full open position on its own accord. A cheer went up from the assembled crowd.
“Miners, hold position,” ordered the teen. “Have the technicians move in.” He looked at the team of medical volunteers standing by near utility vehicles filled with body bags. “Recovery teams, move in.”



0600 Hours

“The pair of Hussars in those bays powered this entire depot,” said Mohammed Bey. He led several of the Tyr pilots through the repair section.
Ali stood on the scaffold; He looked over one of the Hussar’s exposed fusion engine and peered at his diagnostic pad. “This one’s totally drained, Master.” Below the cockpit of the Hussar an inscription on the side read, “The Flower of Scotland.”
“I would suppose,” answered the teen. “These two powered the defense turrets.” He walked over to the lift area, where several Recovery Team members worked. They recorded what they found and collected identity chips. Due to the atmospheric conditions of the underground depot, the scores of bodies they found were mummified. The lift itself was nearly packed solid with corpses –the defenders had not yielded a centimeter.
“Sir,” commented one of the recovery technicians. “It is evident that the attackers finally introduced a neural agent. It is inert now but it may have lingered for almost a century.” She looked over the frozen tableau. “We don’t have enough body bags, sir.”
As`Zaman regarded the scene. He recognized Captain Gordon’s uniform. She fell, weapon in her hands, like a pagan queen surrounded by her loyal warriors. He looked at the technician. “There are many more in the upper floors, all the way to the turrets.” He thought for a few seconds. “Linen or canvas is good enough for soldiers. Make certain you identify as many of them as possible so they may be buried with full honors.” He continued, “Once you get a count, I’ll make certain to order as many as we need.”

“Kapten As`Zaman, what do you think you are doing?” Lojtnant Magnussen stormed into the repair area, obviously looking for a fight.
Kapten Anderssen was about to respond but Mohammed Bey stepped in front of her. “What is the problem, Lojtnant?”
“Who gave you permission to recover any salvage?” sneered Magnussen.
The teen sighed and rolled his eyes, “As representative of Kahman Mercantile, I am fulfilling my contractual obligations, as agreed with Friherr Bödvar, your commander.”
“Nobody told me…”
“You don’t have the need to know, Lojtnant,” replied As`Zaman, his voice suddenly very cold. “If we, by some miracle, need anything from you, we will let you know.”
Magnussen’s hand grasped the hilt of his sword and threatened to draw the blade. The surrounding people stepped back.
“Go ahead and draw, Lojtnant,” said the teen. “What’s one more body bag?” He shifted his weight so he could draw his own weapon.
The Lojtnant’s eyes looked to the others and he saw no support among the surrounding soldiers –their glances seemed to mock his predicament. He then noticed the heaped corpses and swallowed hard. His hand slid to his side, he scowled at all those present and exited the depot without a word.
“Now you’ve done it,” whispered Anderssen. “Yesterday he just disliked you, now he sees you as an enemy and a threat.”
“You’re just saying that to cheer me up,” replied As`Zaman.


0800 Hours

“I’ll need the list of all personnel assigned to this depot,” said As`Zaman. He spoke into a microphone attached to his compad. “Getting the lifts back online may take time, only Ali is familiar with Star League power systems.”
“The information is being transferred right now,” replied Lieutenant Shelley. “I’d like to thank you for not telling anyone about me, Lord Captain.”
“Trust me, I had a hard enough time explaining how I knew this depot was here,” he said. “What I want to know is what do you want us to do about you when we leave?”
“Lord Captain, after the enemy left the ground,” reported Shelley, “I opened up my remaining turrets and did as much damage to th’ craven poltroons as I could.” The teen heard what sounded like a sigh. “I was alone then. The Rimworld Republic troops killed anyone they found outside of the depot.”
“Yes, I am aware of that,” whispered the Azami youth. “What then?”
“Normally, I don’t need to sleep,” said the Lieutenant. “But thought burns calories and there was nobody around to replenish my nutrient supply. Eventually I forced myself to sleep. Once in a great while I would wake, check the calendar and sensors and go back to sleep.” She thought for a moment. “I thought I had dreamed about you.”
“We know better,” replied Mohammed Bey. He continued, “It will take the recovery team at least a day to clear the way to the lift. Ali will then reconnect the power.”
“Lord Captain, my sensors have located a portable omni directional beacon placed in this valley,” the Lieutenant reported. An image appeared on the compad’s screen. It was North Farm.
“A portable beacon?” asked the teen. “That makes a lot more sense.”
“What make more sense?” asked Shelley.
“Something guided a bloodthirsty band of pirates to the valley we now call North Farm,” said As`Zaman. “The same beacon now draws another attack.” He punched a series of numbers into the miniature computer. “Monitor this frequency,” he said.


Assembly Point Thule, August 17, 3038, 1200 Hours

Lojtnant Altmark growled under his breath. The inbound dropships finally responded to his hails.
“We have returned to finish what we started,” declared the imperious voice over the general and emergency frequencies. “It is death for anyone to interfere.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Field Hospital, Assembly Point Thule, August 19, 3038, 0230 Hours

“While the depot’s facilities appeared to be designed to support up to a battalion’s strength, the depot’s inventory appears to contain enough supplies to support a Star League division,” reported Mohammed Bey. He looked up in time to observe the Friherr’s silent nod. “Of course a large portion is rations and fuel stores, so we could easily sell those consumables on local markets.” He tapped some controls on his holographic display, “At the moment, we cannot move everything but I have already looked at making arrangements to cache and later transport the rest.”
Ulfgar smiled, “Good work, young kapten.”
The teen bowed, “I simply adhere to our agreement, sir.”


Command Center, Assembly Point Thule, 0400 Hours

“We’ve found what we came after, let them have that valley,” reasoned Lojtnant Magnussen. He waited for the other officers to respond.
“Our technicians just restored the main lift in North Farm,” said As`Zaman. “The underground storage areas are vast and their contents invaluable.” He looked to his fellow officers, “We fought for this valley once, and surely you don’t mean to abandon it to the Raiders without a fight, do you?”
“We have to measure our gains against the risks,” added Kapten Anderssen. “We have no idea what we may be facing.”
Lojtnant Altmark stood up, “Ivar was a good friend of mine –he died fighting for that valley. What of Jan, Yngve and the Overste? That is our valley, we fought for it and whatever remains in the stores are ours.”
“We have two days before the Raiders arrive,” said Sergeant Amnegard. “We should be planting mines and preparing defensive positions.”
“We could bury the lift and cover it over,” said Magnussen. “When the Raiders leave we can resume salvage operations.”
“What did the Friherr say about this?” asked Sergeant Svanberg.
Kapten Anderssen shook her head, “Our Overste instructed me to call the commanders together and we would discuss it.”
“Master Technician Bingen,” asked Altmark, “what is our current battlemech and vehicle strength?”
The technician stood up and referred to his compad, “One moment, please.” He called up several lists. “We have these battlemechs ready for action: Warhammer, Trebuchet, Panther, Jenner, Mongoose, two Hussars, and the Mercury.”
Magnussen stood up, “What of the Overste’s Hunchback?” He looked at the others sitting around the long table. “Isn’t that battlemech ready as well?”
“Yes,” responded the master technician. He continued, “All of the quads are ready for action –four seventy-five ton quads and four fifty-ton quads.”
Mohammed Bey stood up, “Vehicles?”
The technician nodded, “From components we found in the depot, we were able to repair the pair of Zhukovs in our inventory as well as the Rommel.” He tapped his screen, “We have four hovers recovered from the depot –Zephyrs.”

Sich Novo Zaporozhye, August 19, 3038, 0800 Hours

Several leaders of the various valley settlements gathered to discuss the upcoming situation. Hetman Sirkova did his best to convince the other leaders that the best course of action was to join forces but other than a handful of vehicles and heavy weapons, the other settlements could provide little resistance against a force of battlemechs.
The Hetman was slightly disappointed but the people of other settlements were farmers and workers while the Kozakii were soldiers first then settlers.


Star League Periphery Depot #1134, 1000 Hours

Mohammed Bey strode among the pallets of containers, some stacked ceiling-high. He held a code-reading device and matched the containers with the inventory list that Lieutenant Shelley provided.
“There you are,” called Leila. She drove a small electric cart through the wide corridors created by the stacked supplies. “Why are you taking inventory –can’t anyone else do that?”
The teen continued his work as he replied, “This is a Star League facility, most of the equipment here are not in regular House inventories, such as those inferno missiles you have.” He tapped his screen to record his progress. “The Arkab Legions have been careful to preserve what Star League technology they have and we actively search for these ancient caches and depots –you have no idea what the value of just one of these cases is to the Azami.”
“What’s in that one?” asked Tanaka, her curiosity piqued.
As`Zaman glanced at his screen, “In just this case alone is a company’s worth of Dalban communications sets and replacement components.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to me,” she replied.
“Exactly,” said Mohammed Bey in return. “To you these are just battlemech radios but these are designed to work with military and navigation satellite systems.”
“So, what will the Rasalhague people get out of this depot if there is so much of the equipment that they can’t use?” she asked.
“Are you serious?” He stopped what he was doing. “We may not have enough lift capacity to carry back all the armor we have in this depot, let alone the valuable components.” He continued, “Trust me, there is more than enough stuff here for our Tyr Regiment friends to refit at least a regiment of battlemechs, armor and infantry.”
Leila thought for a moment, “And I’m getting a percentage of this?”
He smiled, “More than enough to buy yourself a decent battlemech of your own.”


1200 Hours

“Check the nutrient level,” said Lieutenant Shelley.
“The indicator is just under one-five percent,” replied the youth. He looked at the large, ceramic canisters held in slots in the ferrocrete floor.
“I could have slept for another twenty or thirty years, Lord Captain,” commented Shelley. “Now that we have power, go ahead and reconnect the main circuit.”
As`Zaman reset several switches then pushed a button. Machinery hummed and the five ceramic containers slid out of position under the floor. From a hidden magazine, new cylinders replace the empty nutrient containers.
“Thank you, Lord Captain,” said the lieutenant. A slab of polished marble covered the cylinders and the power panel. The room had been the command center, the consoles and terminals damaged and destroyed by the fighting so long ago.
“My pleasure, Lieutenant,” said As`Zaman. He secured the slab in place and reset the hidden pressure points. “You are good for another two and a half centuries.” He wiped his palms on the thighs of his fatigue uniform and turned off the light. “I shall see you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”
“Lord Captain, before you depart, I like to ask you something,” requested Shelley.
The teen nodded, “Of course, Lieutenant.”
“What happened to the Star League?” she asked. “I know of the Amaris treachery and fought with the 370th Division in taking the Rim Worlds.” Her voice seemed apprehensive. “Our relief never came so I suppose the fighting to liberate Terra was worse than expected…” There was a pause. “Has the Hegemony suffered so greatly that they haven’t been able to recover their far-flung stations?”
As`Zaman thought for a moment. “I guess you wouldn’t really know, would you?” He activated his compad and reset the frequency, “My micro-computer has extensive general historical data, including the major theories on the origins of the universe.” He noted that Shelley accessed and duplicated his historical files.
“This isn’t possible,” she commented. “All of it, gone?”
“The Inner Sphere is still there,” corrected the teen. “Governments come and go, empires fall.” He stood there for several minutes waiting for her response.
“You knew this yet said nothing,” said Shelley.
“What would I say, Lieutenant?” he asked. “What difference would it have made?” Again, there was a pause. “I am convinced that I am here for a purpose and shall do my best to realize that purpose.”
“Everything I’ve known and believed in is gone,” she said. “What purpose do I have?”
Mohammed Bey bowed his head, “Was I truly here in 2768?” He shut off his compad. “So, do you have any record of me being here?”
“Of course not,” she replied. “There is no record of you or your Mongoose entering this depot at any time before this week.” She seemed hesitant. “Did I dream all of it?”
“You might say we dreamed it all,” he said. “But then I would say that we shared visions that Allah placed in our minds as we slept.”
“It was all too real,” she reasoned. “I remember it all as if it all happened yesterday…”
“That is why I question none of it, Margaret,” said the Azami youth. “I accept all that has occurred over the past long months as the will of Allah –I speak to you now as evidence of that will.”
“I wish I had your faith,” she stated.
The teen smiled, “You shall have a lot of time to think on it.” He took a step through the door.
“Before you go, Lord Captain, could you recite a poem?” asked the lieutenant.
Mohammed Bey tilted his head, “A poem? Why, of course, Margaret.” He stepped back into the room. “What kind of poem would you like to hear?”
“Rimbaud would be fine,” she replied, her voice sounded tired, as if she were at the edge of sleep.
He closed his eyes and the words tumbled forth, as rose petals from a basket, poured over a secluded tomb:

“Depuis huit jours, j'avais déchiré mes bottines
Aux cailloux des chemins. J'entrais à Charleroi.
- Au Cabaret-Vert : je demandai des tartines
Du beurre et du jambon qui fût à moitié froid.

Bienheureux, j'allongeai les jambes sous la table
Verte : je contemplai les sujets très naïfs
De la tapisserie. - Et ce fut adorable,
Quand la fille aux tétons énormes, aux yeux vifs,

- Celle-là, ce n'est pas un baiser qui l'épeure ! -
Rieuse, m'apporta des tartines de beurre,
Du jambon tiède, dans un plat colorié,

Du jambon rose et blanc parfumé d'une gousse
D'ail, - et m'emplit la chope immense, avec sa mousse
Que dorait un rayon de soleil arriéré.”

1400 Hours

Ali shook his head, “Master, I haven’t tracked down all the parts the North Farm technicians replaced in your Mongoose but my diagnostic readings have never been better.”
“Is there a problem?” asked the teen. He wore one of the full-body cooling suits found in storage. He wore the insignia of a Star League captain.
“None,” grumbled the servant. “Save the fact that I find it strange that so many experts in Star League equipment are hiding out in the Periphery –they’d never go hungry in the Inner Sphere.”
“I’ve heard that the Hussars are ready,” commented As`Zaman. He climbed down from the upper catwalk.
“Yes, they are,” replied Ali. “I was wondering when you were going to take one out for a run.”
Tanaka stepped from the lift. She wore a full-body pilot’s suit as well. Under her left arm she cradled a helmet of similar design to the one carried by Mohammed Bey. “Here I am.” She turned around and bowed, “I’ve seen suits like this used by senior officers in the Sword of Light.”
“Did you have enough time to calibrate your new helmet?” asked the Azami youth.
“Doctor Reese was a lot of help,” said Leila. She held up her new Star League design neural helm, “I wish I had one of these while I was in the academy.”
“The Hussars are ready,” said As`Zaman.


South Plains, 1500 Hours

The pair of Hussars raced over the snowdrifts, bounded across the tundra like fleet, alien beasts.
“I thought the Jenner was scary at full tilt,” commented Tanaka. “The Hussar is amazing!”
As`Zaman pulled back on the speed of his battlemech and slowed to a halt, “The speed is good and it has a respectable weapon.” He shook his head as he accessed the communications screen –he had never seen such a well-preserved example. “Set your communications to ‘Monitor’ and observe.”
Leila complied and waited. Soon the communications screen displayed several radio frequencies in use by various sources. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“If you went straight into a DCMS unit,” commented Mohammed Bey, “you would probably never see anything like this.” He continued, “In addition to monitoring frequencies we could also jam them.” He punched the Assembly Point Thule frequency into his navigation computer, “Let’s head back.”

“Do you plan to take these Hussars home with you?” asked Tanaka.
“The Tyr people have no idea how to use these machines, let alone care for them,” replied Mohammed Bey. “They’d be happier with Panthers –even Jenners for that matter.”
“Hey, the Jenner is a very good mount,” said Leila.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” said the teen. “My point is, the Rasalhaguers won’t be able to make the most of the Hussar.”


North Farm, 1730 Hours

Mohammed Bey rested in the cockpit of his Mongoose and watched the engineer crews as they prepared the defenses. They did their best to conceal the main collection of structures under nets and set up a hastily constructed assembly of small hovels and ruins to attract the Raiders’ attention. The teen suddenly thought of something. He powered up his Mongoose and headed into the valley, far into the back, near the base of the great mountain. He activated his Beagle probe unit and monitored his scanners. “There it is…” He halted his battlemech and opened his access hatch.

The Mongoose exited the valley at a run.
“Hey handsome, where are you going?”
As`Zaman tapped the icon on his communications screen, “I’m checking something out, Lojtnant Tanaka.” He saw the Jenner turn to follow and he slowed down to allow the battlemech to fall into formation.
“Oh? On another treasure hunt, are you?” Leila asked. She had been both bored and apprehensive over the preparations made for the upcoming battle.
The teen frowned, “This is something else.” He checked coordinates relayed from the dropship Guillemot that remained in orbit.


South Plains, 1900 Hours

Mohammed Bey kicked the crusted snow away from the discolored mound. He used the survival axe taken from his battlemech’s cockpit and chipped away at a layer of ice.
“What are you hoping to find?” Leila was happy that the newly issued pilot suit she wore kept her warm as well. She recognized the location as the landing location the Raiders’ dropship used days before. The engines would have cleared the layer of snow and ice but the subsequent snowfall covered the area. Despite that, the outline was still very clear. “It was most likely a Union Class,” she commented. The young woman peered over As`Zaman’s shoulder. He pulled a slab of dirty ice from what looked like a frozen corpse.

“He had a laser burn in the back of his head,” said the teen. “From his clothes, I have no doubts that he lived in North Farm, planted the beacon at the rear of the valley and expected some kind of reward from the Raiders.”
“He got his reward,” concluded Leila. She checked her navigation screen, “Where are we going now?”
“Treasure hunting,” he replied. He slowed his Mongoose and circled what appeared to be a low rise in the terrain. “This is it.” He registered the coordinates in his navigation computer.
“I don’t see anything,” said Tanaka.
“Check your magnetic sensors off your thirty degree bearing,” he told her.
Leila adjusted her gains and pivoted her Jenner. “Whoa, that hill there must be solid metal!”
Mohammed Bey laughed, “That hill happens to be what’s left of a Fortress Class dropship.”


North Farm, August 20, 3038, 0100 Hours

Mohammed Bey monitored the sensor feed relayed from the orbiting dropship, Guillemot. “They appear to be taking their time offloading vehicles,” he remarked. “I would say that they plan to engage in large-scale looting.” His Mongoose crouched among the trees near the decoy structures meant to mislead the Raiders.
“Only ten battlemechs so far?” asked Kapten Anderssen. “I can’t believe their arrogance –they landed all three of their dropships barely twenty kilometers from the mouth of the valley.” She monitored the same sensor feed from her Trebuchet, which stood under a camouflage net near one of the valley walls.
“Let them come, already,” growled Lojtnant Magnussen. “I grow tired of waiting for them.” Instead of piloting the Panther, he managed to commandeer the Warhammer. Like the other, slower machines, his stood hidden near the mouth of the valley.
“This group of Raiders can afford to take their time,” commented Hetman Sirkova. “From what Gavrilo knew of them, they are not really Raiders at all but opportunists who follow Raiders and take advantage of the carnage and fear to pick over the ruins that the real Raiders leave behind.” The Hetman’s Phoenix Hawk hid behind a rise near the mouth of the valley. Beside his battlemech, a pair of Maxim hovercraft, each loaded with infantrymen waited.
“Jackals that pick over the lion’s leavings,” jeered Sergeant Nykvist. “I’m going to enjoy this.”


Field Hospital, Assembly Point Thule, 0430 Hours

Overste Friherr Bödvar Ulfgar calmly strapped the medipack to his right thigh and activated the monitor. He ignored the nurse when she returned with the doctor.
“Sir,” said Kapten Reese, “I must insist that you remain in bed.”
The gray-haired senior officer shook his head, “I’ll not lie abed whilst my men at arms do battle.” He winced in pain while pulling his cooling vest over his broad shoulders. “If I am to die, let it be among my warriors.” He grasped the hilt of his broadsword and drew it from its sheath. Ulfgar took a few seconds to admire the quality of the gleaming blade before he threw the sheath aside.
The Friherr staggered from the room, the medical staff watched in silence as he dragged the heavy sword behind him.


North Farm

“They approach,” warned Lojtnant Altmark. He sat in the Panther’s cockpit and monitored his sensor feed. Sharing the camouflage netting that covered the light battlemech, a platoon of Rasalhague infantrymen crouched in their dug-in positions, weapons ready.
Kapten Anderssen shivered as the mass of cargo vehicles rumbled by, escorted by a mix of battlemechs. A shiver went up her spine when she identified the Awesome and a Stalker among their number.
“Nine battlemechs and at least a company of infantry,” said Tanaka. “This could get ugly, Mohammed.”
“Stick to the plan,” cautioned the teen. “You know your job.” He took a deep breath and tapped his communication screen. “Yes Lieutenant.”
“Lord Captain,” reported Shelley. “They only have a single light reconnaissance battlemech –a Locust.”
As`Zaman nodded, “Please continue, Lieutenant.”
“Behind the Locust is a team made up of a Shadow Hawk and a Phoenix Hawk,” she added. “They are followed by a Wolverine and a Scorpion.”
The teen made a mental note, “Very good, Shelley.”
“The Raiders have about a dozen vehicles of varying weight, escorted by a Thunderbolt and a Rifleman. A Stalker and an Awesome are bringing up the rear.” She continued, “A tenth battlemech, an Urbanmech, appears to have been left behind with the dropships.”
The teen shook his head, “Well, I guess they aren’t complete idiots.” He relayed the information to Anderssen, “This is what we have so far, Kapten.”

As the Locust casually picked its way over the fallow fields, a hundred or so meters behind it, the Wolverine and Phoenix Hawk advanced ahead of the vehicles.
Half a kilometer away from the Locust, Lojtnant Magnussen’s Warhammer stepped from its concealed position. “Who dares enter the valley claimed and defended by Friherr Bödvar Ulfgar’s Battalion of the Tyr Regiment?”
The Locust almost stumbled when he saw the Warhammer. The light battlemech turned about and scampered to a safe position behind the cargo vehicles. The Scorpion and Shadow Hawk moved forward while the vehicles held their position.

Unknown to the Raiders, the four Zephyrs moved into position across the mouth of the valley and activated their electronic countermeasures.

From behind the vehicles, the Stalker and Awesome moved forward to reply to the Warhammer’s challenge. The Stalker stepped forward. “I am Colonel Chock and I see no battalion. Stand aside or you will be part of the salvage we take with us as well.”
“Those who do not wish to be judged and punished as pirates, stand down,” ordered Magnussen, “Surrender!”
Colonel Chock replied with a volley of missiles.

As`Zaman started his Mongoose’s power-up sequence. He smiled as the Tyr unit icons appeared on his map overlay. As his machine cleared the woods, he could see the particle beams cutting through the thin fog. The Hussars flashed past him and attacked the Phoenix Hawk. A fireball bloomed and he smiled –Leila had launched her inferno missiles. In the distance, the Wolverine staggered –its armor on fire.
The Raiders’ battlemechs formed a battle line and moved forward. Mohammed Bey shook his head. The Tyr battlemechs did the same –with an exception of the fast light battlemechs. These machines harried the flanks and maneuvered around the enemy battlemechs in order to shoot at them from behind. The teen did much of the same, he dashed past the Rifleman, which also burned, and triggered his lasers. On his first pass, his status alarm sounded. The Awesome managed to strike the Mongoose square in the chest with its particle cannon and burned away most of the armor there.

The two heavy quads belched clouds of black smoke as they lumbered into the clear. Sergeant Nykvist sent a cloud of missiles aimed at the Phoenix Hawk’s back. The Raider disappeared in a white flash when its ammunition exploded. The stricken battlemech’s head separated from its disintegrating body as the pilot ejected.

Once again the burning Rifleman crossed As`Zaman’s sights, he note that the Raider had turned and attempted to leave the valley. He sprinted behind the larger battlemech, raked it with lasers and kicked its left leg. The Rifleman toppled to the ground and, realizing he could not escape, shut down his engine.

The collection of vehicles turned toward the mouth of the valley, joined by the Wolverine and the Shadow Hawk –they had seen enough. The Locust was about to leave the mouth of the valley when a laser blast removed one of its spindly legs. Seeing no escape, the scout battlemech shut down and its pilot watched the Kozak mounted infantry deploy across the mouth of the valley, accompanied by their Hetman in his gaudily painted Phoenix Hawk.
The Shadow Hawk halted and shut down but the Wolverine attempted to break past the line of defenders. Shoulder-launched missiles peppered the Raider’s armor. The pair of Hussars sprinted through a stand of trees and raked the Wolverine with their lasers. The Raider’s right arm disintegrated in a blast that ripped through the fleeing battlemech’s torso. The pilot ejected and surrendered to the surrounding infantry.

Hetman Sirkova saluted as Overste Ulfgar’s Hunchback ran past his position and into the valley toward the fighting.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

North Farm, August 20, 3038, 0500 Hours

Leila Tanaka could not believe how well her Jenner’s controls responded. Her new neural helmet felt so much lighter, as well. She steered her battlemech in a circular pattern, maintaining her speed. She kept an eye on her overhead feed from the Guillemot and chose her next enemy. “Infernos armed!” She smiled as her targeting pipper centered on the side of the hulking silhouette of the Raider Awesome.
The Awesome, Stalker and Thunderbolt formed a battle line and traded fire with Anderssen’s Trebuchet, Magnussen in the Warhammer and Altmark in the Panther. Like a swarm of great insects, the quads rumbled through the woods, black smoke billowing from their tall exhaust pipes. From their position among the trees, the Tyr battlemechs had a slight advantage.
“Concentrate fire on the Awesome,” ordered Anderssen. In battle, she was as cold and terse as she was out of her machine. Orange flame enveloped the Awesome as the particle cannon and missiles ripped into its armor. The battlemech’s arms flailed, it crashed onto its side and Tanaka’s Jenner scampered clear of the Raiders’ faltering battle line. “Switch fire to the Thunderbolt,” ordered Kapten Anderssen.

Near the valley’s mouth, Mohammed Bey saw two of the six Raider vehicles halt and several armed figures piled out. He turned his Mongoose toward the pirate infantry and raised its arm-lasers in their direction. The flicker of a dozen small arms fire and the dazzling lines of tracers lit the pirates’ location. From their dug-in positions, a pair of Kozak machineguns sprayed the Raiders and forced them to scramble for cover.
“We have these,” chuckled Hetman Sirkova, his brilliantly painted Phoenix Hawk roared over thick woods. He fired his main laser over the heads of the cowering pirates and keyed his external speakers, “Drop your arms and surrender, dogs!” The Phoenix Hawk stamped its right foot and ground it, as if it were crushing a massive cigarette butt. “I won’t use weapons!”
As`Zaman shook his head at the demonstration. The Mongoose sprinted back into the valley so the youth did not see the Raiders rise to their feet, hands raised.

Sergeant Torkelson’s Hussar crashed through a patch of evergreen trees in pursuit of the remaining vehicles. The other Hussar, piloted by Sergeant Ingmar Lindholm and the Mercury, with Sergeant Amnegard in the cockpit, followed closely. Realizing that escape was impossible, the Raider vehicles stopped and their crews surrendered to the Kozak infantry.

Lojtnant Magnussen’s Warhammer shuddered as the Stalker and Thunderbolt directed their fire on his machine. The temperature in his cockpit was stifling yet he blasted away at the Thunderbolt with his particle cannon.
Kapten Anderssen cursed under her breath when the Raider Scorpion crept from the woods to join the battle line. The enemy quad traded fire with the Tyr quads that moved between the two lines of battlemechs.

Mohammed Bey stopped his Mongoose alongside the pair of Hussars and the Mercury. “Sergeant Ingmar, have you been monitoring the frequencies?”
The sergeant keyed his transmitter, “Please forgive me, Kapten As`Zaman,” he replied. “I can’t seem to get the thing working properly.”
Sergeant Torkelson broke in, “Sir, the Raiders seem to be attempting to contact their dropships but are unable to get through.”
As`Zaman breathed a sigh of relief, “Very good, sergeant. The Zephyrs appear to be doing their jobs.”
Hetman Sirkova’s Phoenix Hawk strode majestically over to the assembly of light battlemechs. “Good work, warriors of Tyr!” He looked over the Mongoose, “Young sotnik, you still fight yet your torso armor is almost gone.”
The Rasalhague pilots returned the greeting. The teen remained silent.
The Kozak elder motioned to the rear of the valley, “I was surprised when I saw the Overste’s Hunchback run past me.”
“The Overste?” asked Torkelson. “The Friherr is fighting?”
The teen tapped his satellite feed screen and confirmed it, somehow during the fighting Overste Ulfgar managed to slip past them and headed to the fighting near the back of the valley at a run.
As one, the light battlemechs turned toward the rear of the valley and broke into a sprint.

“Magnussen, fall back, your torso armor’s almost gone,” ordered Kapten Anderssen. Her Trebuchet stepped from the wood line to offer the Raiders a more tempting target. Lojtnant Altmark advanced his Panther as well.
“Altmark, stay in the woods and support Wilfrid’s retreat,” commanded Anderssen. Her voice did not flinch despite the volleys of missiles that chipped away at her battlemech’s armor.
The Raider Awesome tried to rise and failed. The Thunderbolt swung around and tried to ward off the harassing Jenner, its weapons fired wide. The Jenner launched a brace of missiles and covered with flaming gel, the Thunderbolt fell to the ground.
In the sweltering cockpit of his Stalker, Colonel Chock screamed commands to his remaining subordinates, “Stand up and kill them, you fatherless cowards!” He squeezed multiple firing triggers and sent missiles and laser beams in the Trebuchet’s direction.
Chock felt his Stalker shudder and he fought the controls to maintain balance. The Raider commander caught a glimpse of a deep blue Hunchback as he spun his battlemech to its left. Smoldering fragments of cockpit lining material filled the cockpit with smoke. He felt a burning piece of shrapnel lodge between his ribs.

Overste Friherr Bödvar Ulfgar roared at the pain that lanced through his body. His bandaged fingers bled and his shoulders felt as if they were on fire. He remembered the small medipack that Mohammed Bey gave to him and slapped the first two buttons. In seconds, the agony from his wounds began to lessen, his body felt numb and tired. Almost immediately, after the pain stopped he felt warmth in his head and a sudden alertness. He saw the Raider Awesome struggling to rise and the Thunderbolt as it fell. He could make out Kapten Anderssen’s Trebuchet covering the retreat of Magnussen’s Warhammer. He saw the enemy Stalker let loose with devastating fire and aimed his running Hunchback at the massive battlemech, filling his sights with that target. His heavy autocannon ripped huge chunks of the Stalker’s armor and one of his lasers struck the side of the Stalker’s cockpit area. Exhilarated, Friherr Bödvar grit his teeth and pushed his Hunchback forward.

Leila Tanaka circled the stand of dense woods and fixed her sights on the rear of the Raider Scorpion. Despite the cold, she could see the thermal wave distortion caused by the quad’s heat sinks. “This boy’s running hot,” she whispered. From sixty meters, the Draconis Combine officer fired a load of inferno missiles that exploded and coated the quad with furiously burning gel.
The Scorpion’s torso disintegrated in a massive blast that flung burning fragments in all directions and left little else other than four burning legs amid twisted wreckage.

“Kapten Anderssen, say status.” Mohammed Bey’s Mongoose slowly fell behind the faster Hussars and the Mercury. He magnified the overhead image on his navigation screen. “Kapten Anderssen, respond.” The teen could make out the battle lines, disturbed by the Hunchback’s sudden appearance. When he caught up to the trio of light battlemechs, he halted his Mongoose to evaluate the scene. From half a kilometer away, As`Zaman could see several flaming patches of ground, the Raider Thunderbolt and Awesome enveloped in flame but they stood back, arms at their sides. Beyond the enemy battlemechs, the Hunchback and Stalker blasted their weapons at each other and traded punches and kicks.
Mohammed Bey could see the Panther and Trebuchet standing in the open. “Kapten Anderssen, please report.”
“They don’t seem to be listening, Lord Captain,” commented Lieutenant Shelley. “I’m surprised that the Overste is still alive –he’s used up all the doses of his medipack.”
As`Zaman was annoyed by the lieutenant’s clinical statement, “The Friherr is their chief –he fights his last battle.”
“Oh, yes, I understand,” replied Shelley. “While in college I took a course in anthropology –the study of primitive cultures. How else would the Hegemony deal with the Houses?” She continued, “To be fair, the Stalker pilot must be baking in his cockpit –he hasn’t been holding back at all either.”

The Friherr’s heartbeats thundered in his ears. His heavy autocannon ceased to function so he pummeled the Stalker with ragged fists, both arms stripped of armor. The Stalker fell onto its side. In the moment when the Raider battlemech stumbled and dropped from his sight, the officer looked at the forest behind his opponent. He saw ravens. The naked branches of the trees appeared covered with hundreds of the large, black birds. He blinked because he thought he could see infantry among the sparse brush. He had seen Kozak infantry at the mouth of the valley but these were men and women in the uniforms of Rasalhague fighters, some from the Tyr Regiment, and others from different units from over the centuries. They raised their weapons and cheered him on. He could see his parents, grandparents and countless relatives lost over years of battle, and they beckoned him to join them.
The Stalker slowly rose to its unsteady feet, its lasers seared into the Hunchback’s chest. The Hunchback’s fists crashed through the Stalker’s torso armor, one ripped out a steaming heat sink. The Stalker’s returning kick struck the Hunchback’s left leg and the Overste’s battlemech stumbled and fell.

Tanaka looked at the hostile icons on her display. According to the screen, only a single enemy battlemech that had not been hit with her inferno missiles. She noted that her next target was stationary on the opposite side of the stand of trees that her Jenner circled. The light battlemech rounded the stand of dense woods and she loosed her missiles at the Raider assault battlemech.

Colonel Chock gulped for air; the temperature in his cockpit seared his exposed skin and he fought the urge to open his cockpit access hatch in panic. The Hunchback was obviously a respected leader. If he could kill him, the enemy might flee or surrender. He fired a brace of short-ranged missiles into the fallen Hunchback and crushed its left arm underfoot. For a moment, he thought that his foe had burst into flames. Alarms sounded, his Stalker was burning! The colonel slapped the shutdown override to keep his engine running but lights darkened in his cockpit and a deafening explosion accompanied by sudden darkness.

“Well, that was certainly unexpected,” said Lieutenant Shelley.
As`Zaman tensed as he readied his weapons. The Awesome and Thunderbolt shut down seconds after their leader’s machine blew apart. The Hunchback struggled to get up but failed. The teen keyed his microphone, “Hetman Sirkova, we need a medical team back here immediately.” He switched frequencies, “Tyr elements, prepare for Phase Two.” He waited for a response.
“I’m ready,” replied Tanaka. Her Jenner halted beside the Mongoose.
“Amnegard, Lindholm, Torkelson, respond,” transmitted Mohammed Bey. “Phase Two.” He turned his Mongoose and headed out of the valley, followed by the Jenner. “Kozak elements, prepare for Phase Two.” He noted that the sky darkened and snow began to fall.
“Kozak elements are ready, Sotnik As`Zaman,” answered Sirkova.
The Azami youth gazed at the line of waiting hovercraft, some of them loaded with Kozak soldiers.
“It looks like we’ll be attacking during a blizzard,” said Hetman Sirkova. “The dropships won’t know what hit them.”
“Tyr elements, this is last call,” transmitted As`Zaman. He regretted the loss of the Overste but even the Friherr had obligations to his people. The teen frowned, “Phase Two units, the Phoenix Hawk will be leading red elements, the Jenner shall lead the gold elements and the Mongoose shall command silver elements. Black elements shall provide back-up.”


Southern Plains, 0615 Hours

The snowfall was dense and reduced visibility to less than ten meters. Three spheroids sat in the deepening gray, their flashing navigation lights blotted out by the blizzard.

“Two Mules and a Union?” asked Tanaka. “Those will give us more than enough lift, won’t it?”
As`Zaman chuckled, “One of them goes to the Kozaks for their support.” He strained his eyes but could not see anything but grey. Like the others, he relied on the navigation relay from the Guillemot. His active probe allowed him to keep track of the surrounding units as they advanced.

The first platoons of infantrymen dismounted and moved up on the silent dropships. Along with each platoon was a technician with portable compads. Tasked with getting past security measures, the technicians located the outer access panels and took their time with opening the loading doors. The Mules had more rudimentary security systems and their massive doors rumbled open and the ramps deployed. The Jenner and Phoenix Hawk strode into their respective targets, followed by their supporting infantry.
The Mongoose stood outside of the Union when it alarms sounded. One of the cargo doors opened and the ramp deployed. Mohammed Bey’s battlemech scrambled up the ramp and dashed into the lit cargo bay. The rattle of submachine guns echoed through the cavernous dropship. Bullets tapped at the armored screen he peered through now that his sensors were useless. The Kozaks wore ballistic plate coats and carried the heavy Mausers he traded to the Hetman. In seconds, the defenders in the lower bays dropped their weapons and more Kozaks flooded into the Union.
The Mongoose charged up the ramp to the lower ‘mech bays while the Kozaks secured the living quarters and swarmed up ladders and catwalks to hunt down defenders. The teen struck the safety belt release and opened his access hatch, dragging his war falchion behind him.
“Sotnik!” called one of the soldiers.
As`Zaman leapt to a catwalk and waved, “Over here!”
“The men in the bridge have surrendered, the dropship is ours!”

In the back of the valley called North Farm, Sergeant Yngve Nykvist helped pull Friherr Bödvar’s lifeless body from the fallen Hunchback’s cockpit. After they lay their chief’s body on the stretcher, those present saw that the man’s pale right hand gripped the hilt of his drawn sword.


North Farm, August 21, 3038, 0000 Hours

The building that once served as the communal dining facility for the settlers of North Farm now served as a courtroom. Armed Tyr infantrymen stood guard over seventy-eight prisoners housed in a pair of storage buildings now repaired and reinforced to serve as a jail. Outside of the court building, as with any public spectacle, people from the other valleys gathered. Whether out of curiosity, or to dispel the boredom of day-to-day valley life, this was the biggest event anyone could remember.
Again, gift vendors and food sellers brought their wares on wagons and sold them. There were musicians and dancers, jugglers and magicians, turning the normally somber event into a strange carnival.

Presiding over the trial sat Kapten Britt Anderssen, cold and serious in her dark blue uniform and black mourning veil. To her left sat Hetman Sirkova, hard-eyed in his long black tcherkessa. On the kapten’s right sat Mohammed As`Zaman Bey, Grand Imam of North Farm, his face passive and serene under the dark green turban he wore, his body relaxed under his dark brown robe.
Kapten Anderssen sounded her gavel, “I would like to call this tribunal to order, please be seated and silent so we may begin…” The ushers were armed Tyr soldiers and they swiftly brought the audience to order.
“Thank you,” continued Anderssen. “Unlike a trial, this tribunal is to determine, via deposition and other forms of evidence, the level of applicable charges for each prisoner.”
“Milady, if your honor would permit me,” began Lojtnant Magnussen. He continued, “I have the list of charges…”
“If the lojtnant could be patient,” said Anderssen. “Have the first group of prisoners brought in.”
Mangnussen bowed and the guards brought in nine men, they walked dejected and some looked obviously wounded. He waited for the prisoners to face the judges. “These are the pilots of the Raider battlemechs captured in North Farm,” he announced. “Each of them has been confirmed as pilots from multiple sources, including their own admission.”
Anderssen looked at the line of men, “Have any of you anything to say in your defense?”
The first pilot stepped forward, “I-I am Sergeant Nathaniel Dzurr, I piloted the Rifleman –we are prisoners of war, why are we on trial?”
Hetman Sirkova touched the kapten’s shoulder, indicating that he would answer. He stood up and leaned over the table, “You are on trial because you are not soldiers but pirates and you are charged as such.”
“But we’re not the Raiders,” replied the sergeant. “We just followed them if we heard about them traveling through the area.”
The Hetman wagged his finger at the pilot, “And you pretended to be Raiders to scare off other scavengers!” He pounded the desk and shouted, “Because of you pirates, the Friherr is dead!” He shook his fist, “Three of my soldiers dead, five injured! You are all dead!” The crowd in the hall echoed the call, “Kill them! Kill them!”
Anderssen stood up and rapped her gavel, “That’s enough, order!” The guards signaled for the audience to be silent.
Colonel Chock struggled with his shackles, “You have no authority here!”
The kapten looked to her fellow judges, “I believe we are unanimous here.” The other two judges nodded. “On the charges of piracy, you are all guilty.” She took a breath, “On the charges of murder, you are all equally guilty.” She rapped the gavel, “Sentencing will be tomorrow. Guards, remove them.”

The guards led in a group of fifteen men and women. Kapten Anderssen motioned for Lojtnant Magnussen to read the charges.
The lojtnant nodded. “After reviewing recordings taken of the fighting, as well as inspection of weapons and the depositions taken from witnesses, you are charged with the high crime of piracy and murder.”
“Have any of you anything to say in your defense?” asked the kapten.
One of the women stepped forward and she held the arm of another prisoner, “Your honor, please have mercy on my boy –he’s only sixteen.” She stood beside the young man, the fear visible in their eyes. “He didn’t shoot anybody; he just fired his rifle because everyone else was.”
There was a sympathetic murmur among the audience.
“You are the boy’s mother?” asked Mohammed Bey.
“Yes, your honor,” answered the woman. She wiped tears from her eyes.
“You led him into piracy; you taught him that it was good to take by force the products of another’s labor.” The teen’s face was devoid of emotion, he remembered the judgment on Algedi years before. He leaned over to Anderssen and whispered, “Guilty as charged, sentencing tomorrow.”


The Tyrfing, 0000 Hours

Master Navigator Tryggvi Hrafn opened an eye. He was not dreaming, somebody was rapping at his door. “One moment, one moment,” he muttered. He released his sleeping restraints, drifted to the door and opened it slightly, “What is it?”
Outside of his door was the young crewman sent to disturb his sleep. “Sir, there is something you have to see!”
“Is this something important?”
“Yes, sir,” said the messenger. “It’s a jumpship like none I’ve ever seen!”

Hrafn rubbed his eyes before entering the bridge. Several of the crew crowded the bridge to get a glimpse of the massive jumpship that entered the system at the same pirate point. The Master Navigator smiled, “That’s the Nebula Dancer.” He admired the Star Lord Class jumpship.
“Nebula Dancer?” asked a crewman. “Why is the paint scheme so ornate?”
Hrafn chuckled, “Haven’t you ever seen a Jarnsfolk craft?”


North Farm, 0800 Hours

Mohammed Bey sat at a desk and worked at completing a log of the day’s events. He moved into one of the Star League officers’ rooms that lay deep below the valley of North Farm. The access lift in the machine shop repaired, he discovered that the settlers that used the underground billeting area for storage kept the facilities reasonably clean and orderly. It took only a few hours to restore power but the lift that connected the billets to the other portions of the depot was hopelessly blocked, the shaft possibly collapsed.
There was a knock at the door.
He adjusted his robe, stood up and crossed the room to open the door, “Yes?”
Kapten Anderssen stood at the door, “He’s dead…he’s dead…”
The teen shook his head and invited her into the room, “I wish I had the kind of words that could comfort you, Britt.” He gave her a chair and she sat down. “Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you,” she replied. He could see that she had been crying.
He poured himself a cup of hot tea and sipped it, “Is there anything I may do for you, kapten?”
“Let me stay here with you tonight, Mohammed,” she asked. “I can’t sleep alone.”
“Didn’t you suggest that we no longer…”
“I know what I suggested,” she said. “I’m not here for that… I just don’t want to be alone.”
“Alright, Britt, if you insist,” he told her. The teen put his tea down on the desk, “The Jarnsfolk jumpship we’ve been waiting for finally arrived –that means we’re leaving soon.”
“I want to leave this place,” she said. She covered her face with her hands, “I wish we never came here.”


August 22, 0000 Hours

“Look at all these people,” commented As`Zaman. “We had to use cameras and let the overflow audience sit in the other empty buildings.”
“If they were expecting to watch the executions, they are mistaken,” whispered Anderssen.
Hetman Sirkova took his seat next to Anderssen, “Do not worry about those buzzards,” he growled. “Just look to accomplishing our jobs today.”

Lojtnant Magnussen demanded that an allocation of a third of the prisoners to the Tyr unit for execution. After a brief discussion, the judges agreed.
“All men and women above the age of sixteen captured bearing arms are to be executed,” announced Mohammed Bey. “The crews of the dropships and the jumpship that surrendered shall work for a set amount of time to be determined later.” He continued, “Those dependents captured and other non-combatants shall be reduced to slave status and sold.”
Kapten Anderssen stood up, “This tribunal is adjourned.”


0400 Hours

“The guards have been doubled and the leaders placed in separate cells,” reported Lojtnant Altmark. He shivered when he looked at the gallows the Kozak soldiers constructed. “It will be a long time before anyone settles in this valley again.”
As`Zaman gave an uncaring shrug, “It will be a longer time before anyone tries to raid this world once word of this gets out.” He looked over to where the Tyr soldiers prepared saplings. “When I heard that Magnussen wanted to sacrifice his share of prisoners to pagan gods, I was going to protest.” He looked to the sharpened stakes set up to impale his prisoners and sighed, “But death is death, although the lucky ones will be getting the noose.”

Sergeant Nykvist entered the hall, “Kapten As`Zaman?”
The teen looked up from his holoscreen, “What may I do for you, sergeant?”
The sergeant approached the desk and looked around. He lowered his voice, “The recovery team has finally collected all the bodies from the depot and made it up to the ruins of the upper turrets.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “Please let the crews know that I appreciate all the hard work they have done, sergeant.”
“There is more, sir,” said Nykvist. “At first glance, many of the defenders succumbed to a neural toxin, most likely introduced in gaseous form.” He handed the teen a memory chip, “This contains more detailed findings by the forensics team.”
“What do you have to tell me?”
The sergeant paused to form his response. “The team found no evidence of gas canisters or any other delivery system.” He continued, “While most of the Rim Worlds soldiers died from combat, dozens were killed by the neural toxin as well.”
As`Zaman inserted the chip into his compad and called up the report, “Are you telling me that the defenders released the gas?”
“Yes, sir,” said Nykvist. “That seems to be the most likely scenario.”
“Very good, sergeant,” said the young officer, “I shall make a point to read the report tonight.” He watched as the sergeant walked through the door and closed it behind him.


0800 Hours

“We’ve already started loading operations,” said Mohammed Bey. “All of the quads have been sold and the Jarnsfolk dropships are on their way.”
“I guess that means that you will be leaving soon,” said Lieutenant Shelley.
“Yes, Margaret,” he said. “We have about a week left.” He sipped his tea. “I wish you would let me tell someone about you –once I leave, who will you talk to?”
“You needn’t worry about me, Lord Captain,” replied Shelley. They were silent for a moment. “Do you think you will ever come back?”
“I cannot say, Margaret –I would like to come back,” he replied. “If I’m going to return to the Arkab Legion, I may not return for many years.”
“Lojtnant Anderssen visited you last night,” she told him. “I don’t mean to pry but who is she to you?”
Mohammed Bey frowned, “The lojtnant is a fellow officer who was deeply affected by the death of her commander.” He shrugged, “She wanted company. Why do you ask?”
“I was just concerned,” replied Shelley. “It’s nothing, really.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Saint Andrew’s Plantation, August 23, 3038, 0500 Hours

Kapten Anderssen relaxed in the cockpit of her Trebuchet as she observed the line of heavy haulers carry tons of crated equipment to the waiting dropships. A line of haulers returned to the depot where dozens of industrial lift suits waited with more crates. The relays seemed endless and she lost count of the thousands of tons they moved.

High above the depot’s entrance, the Phoenix Hawk’s jump jets roared as it climbed up the steep ridges and halted at the peak where a team waited among centuries-old ruins.
“Ey, this is the last of it,” reported Hetman Sirkova. His battlemech lowered the crated component to the cleared platform.
Ali stepped from the gaping hole where access to the defensive turret was once located, followed by a crew of technicians. “Thank you for your help, Hetman –we’ll take it from here.”

“Run that image once more,” said Mohammed Bey. He sat at a security console and studied the images on the screen. “The first of these was almost fifty years ago?”
“Affirmative,” replied Lieutenant Shelley. “That’s when the first group of North Farm’s settlers appeared.”
“Some of those people are almost three meters tall,” commented As`Zaman. The teen played back the security camera recordings from their fight against the Raiders on the thirteenth. “They are armed with heavy weapons mounted on gyrostabilized harnesses.”
“Quite a few of them died fighting the Raiders,” added Shelley.
“Do you have any images of the Raiders’ machines?” Mohammed Bey asked. “The robots they used were astounding.”
“Yes, I have some on file,” responded the lieutenant. “But they are from the upper ridge cameras and have little detail.”
“You have them,” he nodded. “At least I could piece together a record of that fight.”


0600 Hours

Lojtnant Altmark’s Warhammer trudged up the dirt road to the depot. “Kapten, I am here to relieve you.”
Anderssen tapped her communications screen, “These are the codes, Ragnar,” she reported. “There’s nothing amiss. Have you ever seen so much stuff being moved?”
“Thanks, Kapten,” he looked at the haulers. “The same is happening with all the valleys –there must be two dozen dropships inbound just to pick up grain.”

“Kapten As`Zaman, the work crew is here.”
The teen pushed away from the console and stood up to unlock the door. “Yes, come in.”
Several men with a pallet cart entered the room. “The equipment you ordered, sir.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “Do you have the diagrams?”
“Yes sir.”
“Very good,” the teen stepped out of the room, “I guess I’ll get out of your way.”

Kapten Anderssen stepped from the lift as the crew of technicians tended to her battlemech. She saw Mohammed Bey enter the bay area and waved to him.
“I thought you’d be off duty at this time,” he said. “Have you any plans?”
The kapten shook her head, “No real plans, although I feel like having some hot soup and coffee.”
“Coffee?” the Azami youth made a face. “I must admit I’ll never get used to the taste of that stuff.” He smiled, “I could use something to eat.”
“Sergeant Nykvist told me about an eating place in this valley,” said Anderssen. “We could take the shuttle.”
As`Zaman looked through the depot’s wide doors, “A lot of traffic today.” He stopped to slip on his lined gloves. “I could see the shuttle on its way in, are you ready?”
“Ready? I’m starving!” exclaimed the kapten. She headed out to where several people gathered to await the approaching vehicle.
The teen tugged the fur hat from his belt and pulled it onto his head before falling in step with Anderssen.


0630 Hours

Mohammed Bey sat back in his chair and sipped his tea, “That beef and barley soup really hit the spot.”
“I’ll have to agree,” replied Anderssen. “I’ll be happy when we finally finish loading and head home.”
“I can’t argue there, Britt,” said the teen. “I had to recruit some representatives to take charge of operations here since we don’t have the ability to carry all that’s in the depot.”
“Is that why you’ve been so busy lately?” she asked.
“Partly,” he said. “I’ve had crews repairing some of the depot’s sensors and defenses as well.” He took his clay pipe from the pouch at his side and stuffed some tobacco into the bowl. “Ali managed to repair the main lift that connects the living quarters to the rest of the depot. The only area we can’t access was where the fusion reactor was located –that floor and all beneath it was destroyed.”
“How are you powering the facility?” asked Britt.
“That’s the easy part,” replied As`Zaman. “Originally, Ali had planned to borrow a pair of Atlas reactors we located in storage and just rig them to power the depot.”
“So, what did he finally do?”
“Once we completed the inventory, Ali noted that we had a set of tactical reactors for powering field operations,” said the teen. “They were all set to go, mounted on trailers.”
“What about maintaining them?” asked the kapten.
“Again, I had to deal with the locals,” he explained. “Since we had so much equipment, I used a portion of it to pay the Hetman and his men to guard our depot.”
“So, that’s where they got the body armor and new rifles,” commented Anderssen. “Magnussen will be furious.”
“I’ve already explained it to him,” announced Mohammed Bey. “The Kozaki have battlemechs and the necessary technicians for them, the valleys need to defend their harvest each year and the depot has huge storage facilities –I see a sustainable operation, don’t you?”
Anderssen shook her head, “Unbelievable! How old are you?”
The teen sipped his tea and winked, “I’ll be eighteen next month.”


August 24, 3038, 0600 Hours

David Ferguson, the Mayor of Saint Andrew’s Plantation stood at the podium and nervously tugged at the collar of his ill-tailored suit. Not looking up from the sheet of paper, he read his prepared speech. “Good morning, my fellow citizens. Today we have assembled to pay our last respects to brave soldiers who unbeknownst to us lay forgotten for centuries not far from where we lived and worked for years.
“I grew up in this valley and once asked why this place was named after Saint Andrew. While most people told me that it was because of the number of Scots who lived in this valley, my own grandfather showed me the tarnished badge that bore the cross of that saint. That tarnished badge found near here as were several others like it, were all insignia of soldiers of the Three Hundred Seventieth Battlemech Division.”
Mayor Ferguson motioned to the field behind the podium, “Behind me are a hundred and twenty-eight graves containing the identified remains of the Star League defenders. In addition to those defenders, the bodies of over two hundred Rim Worlds Republic soldiers have been recovered –these shall be interred in the valley known as North Farm in another ceremony tomorrow.” He looked over his notes, “And now, we shall have a prayer by Father Buchanan, followed by the bugler playing ‘The Last Post’ and our pipers playing ‘The Flowers of the Forest.’”

“Not attending the services?” asked Shelley.
“I do not celebrate death,” said Mohammed Bey in response. “I have far too much to do as it is.”
“It really is very nice,” she said. “Thank you for replacing the external cameras and sensors, I’ve really felt blind for longer than I dare to recall.”
The teen chuckled, “I guess, you’ll like this surprise, then.”
“A surprise?”
As`Zaman keyed his communicator, “Ali, are you ready yet?”
“Yes, Master, we finished installing the dome last night –we have completed all the necessary calibration.”
“Very good, Ali,” replied Mohammed Bey. “I’ll take it from here.” He called up a program on his console, “Lieutenant, get ready for this…” He touched the screen.
“Oh, my!” exclaimed Shelley. “I could see dropships! Each of them has been assigned a secondary beacon code!” Her computer-generated voice sounded unusually excited. “How did you do this?”
“Do you remember that Fortress we attacked out on the South Plains?” he asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“Even when a dropship crashes there are salvageable components,” he told her. “That Fortress still had a full set of dropship-grade sensors. Ali and a recovery team found the parts and Hetman Sirkova delivered the components.”
“You did this for me?”
“Of course,” answered the teen. “I thought about you being cut off from the outside for so long.”
There was silence for a length of time. “I’ll confess I was afraid that I might have died before you returned.”
He tilted his head, “Returned? Even I have trouble remembering being here before –the images have faded as if in the mists of a dream, causing me to ask myself if what I recall ever really occurred.”
“Mohammed, do you believe dreams could be shared?”
He dipped his head in agreement, “We’ve been over this, Margaret.” The teen stood up and stretched, “I should get some rest.”


North Farm, 1200 hours

“Mohammed, wake up!”
The teen stirred in his bed, “What is it, lieutenant?” His eyes focused on the glowing digital readout on the desk. “What the…”
“Lord Captain, that Magnussen fellow is on his way,” said Shelley.
The teen pushed off the covers and pulled on his voluminous Kozak-style trousers. He had finished putting on his soft red riding boots when Lojtnant Magnussen pounded on his door. “One moment, please.” He opened the door and winced in the bright hall light. “May I help you, Lojtnant?”
Magnussen shuffled uncomfortably, “Kapten As`Zaman, you wouldn’t know where I could find Kapten Anderssen, would you?”
As`Zaman opened his right eye, “What?” He shook his head, “Lojtnant, why would I know Kapten Anderssen’s location?” He looked up, “Have you tried the Blood Ember?”
The tall mechwarrior shook his head, “She isn’t there.”
“Listen, there has to be a dozen or so inns in which she might be staying,” suggested Mohammed Bey. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
Magnussen’s growl calmed down a bit, “I’ve heard some idle chatter…” He scratched the back of his neck, “Doctor Reese told me that you gave the Friherr your medipack… It allowed him to fight in the last battle.”
The teen nodded slightly, “Yes, I could not think of any other way to help him.”
“Our Friherr died as a Viking should –in battle,” said Magnussen. “I have seen the manifests and it appears that I have misjudged you –I thought your only concern was trade and salvage.”
“I have my duties to my people and you have your obligations to yours, Lojtnant,” replied As`Zaman. “I regret the loss of Friherr Bödvar; he was dedicated to his people.”
“I have a boon to ask of you, Mohammed Bey,” announced Magnussen. “We shall cremate our Friherr tomorrow and the ceremony shall require…executions.”
The teen’s eyes widened. “Take as many of the condemned as you require lojtnant.”


South Plains, August 25, 0700 Hours

Several hundred mounted Kozaki surrounded the two hundred thirty-seven graves dug into the frozen soil. From the saddle, Mohammed Bey watched as Gavrilo walked from one grave to another, saying a short prayer, making the sign of the cross and tossing in the first handful of dirt. Behind the old chaplain, a crew of men filled in each grave and positioned an engraved bronze plaque.
“May they rest well,” said Hetman Sirkova. “I hear poor Gavrilo has been searching the plains for lost bodies –he’s located several in the last few days.”
As`Zaman looked out over the snow-covered desolation, “There are hundreds out there, unburied and forgotten –they call to him and he searches.”
“He told me you installed a navigational beacon in North Farm for him to use,” the Hetman said. “He no longer sits in his hut and drinks all night trying to avoid nightmares.” The leader looked up, “They are just about done –I have to lead the men in making the kurgan.” He pulled the whip from his boot and slapped his mount’s haunch.
The teen goaded his own horse forward and he removed his fur hat.


North Farm, 1100 Hours

“Lord Captain…”
The teen stirred in his bed, “What is it, lieutenant?” His eyes focused on the glowing digital readout on the desk.
“You have another visitor.”
As`Zaman still wore his Kozak uniform and boots. He rolled out of bed, stepped unsteadily over to the door, and opened it. He caught Tanaka just about to knock. “May I help you?”
“Oh!” The young woman was flustered for a moment. “I just wanted to see what you were doing, Mohammed.”
He brushed his tangled hair with his fingers, “I was sleeping.”
“With your boots on?” she asked. “You haven’t been drinking with the Kozaks again, have you?”
Mohammed Bey shook his head; “I declined taking part in the wake today.”
Leila suddenly became serious, “They are cremating the Overste tonight –the Rasalhaguers have built a large ship of wood for him.” She crossed her arms and shivered. “They’re sacrificing some of the prisoners.”
As`Zaman closed his eyes, “They were already slated for death.”
“One of the men told me of the ‘blood eagle’ –the ceremony they will perform,” she said.
“I have read about the ‘blood eagle’ ceremony,” whispered the teen. “Remember, they are pirates and we shall impale the leaders.”
“Then you know that they don’t just kill the prisoners,” said Tanaka. “They torture them.”
The teen looked at her, “The victim is suspended by the wrists between two saplings, his body under tension. Sharp knives cut the cartilage that joins the ribs to the spine. The tension of the saplings causes the ribs to spread and form what look like bloody wings.” He looked down, “It is rumored that members of the Tyr Regiment have used the ‘blood eagle’ on Combine prisoners.”
“It wasn’t just a rumor, Mohammed,” she told him. “Those barbarians are up there, slicing up a dozen men –the Kozaks have doubled their guards on the remaining prisoners to keep them under control.” She put her arms around him, “I just want to leave this place, go home…”
He held onto her, “The loading is just about finished, Leila –I promise, we’ll be out of here and on the way home in less than a week.”

A ten-meter long replica of a Viking longship sat upon a heap of pine logs. A formation of dark blue Tyr Regiment battlemechs stood in the cold night, lit by flickering torches. From a nearby grove, the sobbing moans of dying men rose into the pitiless night, unheeded by the hard-eyed men who wore linen tunics and thick wool cloaks, heavy swords at their sides.
Britt Anderssen wore a simple white linen dress, covered with a deep blue embroidered apron and wool shawl clasped at the neck by an ornate golden brooch. She knelt on a small rug and cast bone shards inscribed with runes.

“Interesting,” commented Shelley.
Mohammed Bey switched off his monitor, “You can watch the rest, Margaret.” He finished his tea and took the time to pull off his boots, “We execute the remaining prisoners tomorrow.”
“Lord Captain…”
“Yes lieutenant?”
“Is it true that you could be leaving as soon as two days from now?”
“That is correct,” he replied. He placed his boots under the bed.
“I am going to miss you, sir,” she said.
The teen sighed, “I shall miss you a well, Margaret.” He took off his long coat and draped it on the back of the chair. “I can’t promise it but I’m going to do my best to come back.”


North Farm, 2100 Hours

It was still dark when the Kozak guards dragged seven of the Raider officers to where they had hastily erected gallows. Led blindfolded and gagged, several men waited for each prisoner with a long stake, sharpened at each end. Once they bound the prisoners, the guards removed the blindfolds.

Ten at a time, the Kozak guards led the remaining men and women to a different set of gallows –this with ten nooses. Mohammed Bey observed the executions from horseback, Kapten Anderssen and Lojtnant Magnussen watched from their battlemechs. The teen counted fifty-three nooses in the five sets of gallows.
Hetman Sirkova leaned over to the youth, “Was it your idea to have the soldiers killed in view of the officers?”
As`Zaman nodded –he was grim and in no mood for talk.
“Make sure there are guards on duty until they are dead,” the elder reminded. “You don’t want any misguided fool to kill anyone out of mercy or to cut down the bodies.”
“No my Hetman,” growled the teen. “They will feed the ravens –or go to the devil, for all I care.”
The guards kicked away the long bench and ten more pirates swung limp from their gibbets.


New Seville, August 26, 1100 Hours

The horse-drawn carriage arrived at the decorated pavilion where the party awaited. In his traditional robes and turban of an imam, Mohammed Bey motioned for Ali to step forward. Ali wore the traditional white robes of a Berber groom and he stood nervously as he watched the carriage. He had not seen Shakira for a week –she had been undergoing the traditional preparation culminating the previous night, where her friends would paint her hands with henna, often writing the groom’s name.
The first woman to exit the carriage was Tanaka, who decided to wear a shiny, form-fitting cheongsam dress in crimson silk. Her eyes met Mohammed’s and she winked. Leila stopped to assist Shakira from the carriage. The bride wore traditional Berber robes, ornate silk brocade that covered her from head to toe. Her veil left only her eyes exposed. Four Kozak guards, each holding a wooden pole supporting a small canopy took position surrounding the bride and Tanaka led Shakira around the pavilion to show off her wedding costume embroidered with gold thread.
After the bride had paraded around the pavilion, she took her place beside Ali to exchange vows. When Mohammed Bey asked if any man challenged Ali for Shakira’s hand, the Kozaks put hand to hilt and glared about, as if they dared anyone to respond.
Following the exchange of vows and blessings, the couple paraded around the pavilion once more, accompanied by lively music.

“That was rather impressive,” said Leila. She sat down beside Mohammed Bey. “Is your wedding going to be similar?”
The teen shrugged, “I guess, most likely far more elaborate, with horses and elephants.”
“Really? You’d better invite me,” she warned.
“I’ll tell my mother to add you to the list,” said As`Zaman.
“How thoughtful,” said Leila. “So, does this mean that Shakira’s no longer your servant?”
“If I say so,” he told her. “I haven’t decided, although Shakira has been more Ali’s servant than mine.”
“I was wondering about that,” remarked Tanaka. She looked at him, “That was no accident, was it?”
Mohammed Bey smiled. “We leave for home in two days.”


Saint Andrew’s Plantation, 1800 Hours

Mohammed Bey and the leaders of the various settlements stood in the refurnished Command Center inside the depot. The teen gave the visiting officials a tour of the facilities and demonstrated its capabilities.
“This is Command Center,” the teen activated the holo-projector. Most of the guests gaped in awe when the images of arriving and departing dropships appeared in the air before them. “This is the Guillemot, in geosynchronous orbit,” said As`Zaman, he pointed to the three-dimensional image floating over their heads. “This is the Black Pearl and the one just leaving is the Argus.” He pointed out the two dropships.
“This is all very interesting,” commented Mayor Ferguson. “What does this have to do with all of us?”
As`Zaman bowed, “I was about to get that, your honor.” He cleared his throat. “I would like you all to meet Kahman Mercantile’s official representative in this facility.”
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Lieutenant Margaret Shelley.


North Farm, August 28, 0000 Hours

Colonel Chun moaned a hundredth curse through bloodstained, cracked lips. The stake had slowly worked its way through his body and he felt his collarbone ready to give way. Through his blurred vision, he could see the bodies of his troops twisting in the wind and beyond the valley, the burning trail of the Blood Ember leaving Midgard. “Damn you… damn you all…” he rasped.
“Thou art in no position to mouth curses.” The voice was deep and heavily accented.
Chun could barely turn his head to see the figure addressing him. He suddenly felt very cold. In the wavering torchlight he could see the figure of a man with red glowing eyes, a segmented body and claws instead of hands. Chun opened his mouth and desperately wanted to scream.


0200 Hours

The Kozak guards returned to Novo Zaporozhe –the last of the pirates had died. It was whispered among the Kozaks that the dozen men executed by the Vikings were found frozen solid, their mangled corpses covered by curious white hoarfrost. The elders merely chuckled; a cold blast from the mountain peaks wasn’t so rare on this world and such an occurrence could easily be explained.
The mystery of the pirate chief’s body was entirely different.
The Kozak guards swore that they had gone to make their rounds, perhaps fifteen minutes at most. When they returned, they found Colonel Chun’s blackened form, his body reduced to smoking carbon as if from extreme heat.
Perhaps it was a vengeful victim with a hand flamer –many theories abound but few take into account the fact that the stake that pierced the colonel’s body remained untouched by flame or fire.
The other officers died from the effects of impalement, though none could explain the frozen expressions of absolute terror on all of their faces.
Needless to say, for many years, people shunned North Farm, venturing into the valley only if they had official business at the depot.

'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

-The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

The Blood Ember, August 28, 0500 Hours

“Yes, yes, he told me about it,” said Mohammed Bey. He lay relaxed in his bunk while he talked on his communicator. “I was thinking of calling you on it to see if your cameras might have picked anything up.”
“No,” replied Lieutenant Shelley. “I probably should have had at least a couple watching the area for the sake of security but the images of those people on the stakes was just too much.”
“Of course, Margaret,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect you to have to look upon that grisly site all day.” He continued, “All I could tell the Hetman was that I had no rational explanation for what happened.” He touched the amulets that hung around his neck, “I hope that is good enough for you.”
Shelley laughed, “That should keep the curious out of the valley for a while.” Now that she was in a lighter mood, she changed the subject, “I viewed the first episode of ‘Richter’s Rangers’ today –I don’t think I’ve seen anything that funny in…”
“…centuries?” inserted As`Zaman. “I thought you’d like them; just make sure you take your time in watching all forty-two vids.”
“I promise,” replied Lieutenant Shelley. “I’ll think about you every time I watch them.”
Mohammed Bey looked at the time and sensed that they had run out of things to say –it would a very long time before they would hold a discussion, it ever. “I guess it time to say farewell but before I sign off, I have one more thing for you.”
“What is it?”
“J'ai perdu mon Euridice
rien n'égale mon malheur
sort cruel! quelle rigueur!
rien n'égale mon malheur!
Je succombe à ma doleur.
Euridice, Euridice,
réponds, quel supplice,
réponds-moi!
C'et ton époux fidèle
entends ma voix qui t'appelle!

J'ai perdu mon Euridice
rien n'égale mon malheur
sort cruel! quelle rigueur!
rien n'égale mon malheur!
Je succombe à ma doleur.
Euridice, Euridice,
réponds, quel supplice,
réponds-moi!
Mortel silence! Vaine espérance!
Quell soffrance!
Quel tourment déchire mon coeur!

J'ai perdu mon Euridice
rien n'égale mon malheur
sort cruel! quelle rigueur!
rien n'égale mon malheur!
Je succombe à ma doleur.”


Battlemech Bays, 1100 Hours

Ali Iften shook his head, “What a pity we couldn’t capture this machine.” He stood at a large table strewn with assorted battlemech parts. He studied the remaining intact leg of the Raiders’ Hunchback, which he partially disassembled. A trio of cameras recorded his battlemech forensics. “With about thirty percent of the original armor remaining, the Hunchback’s left leg internal components are in pristine condition.” He opened an access panel behind the thigh. “The myomer bundles are of high quality, showing that this battlemech was well maintained, possibly new.” The access panel to the lower leg took some effort to open. “There is a pair of jump jets with Star League-style stock numbers, also well-maintained.”


Mess Hall, 1300 Hours

“Although both arms were severely damaged, they both had intact heat sinks,” reported Ali.
“Anything unusual?” asked Mohammed Bey. He had finished his lunch and now sipped his tea.
“Indeed, Master,” offered Ali. “Not only were this heat sinks the high-capacity type but they were far smaller than those of the Star League.”
That got the teen’s attention, “How much smaller?”
“They are one third smaller than what we would consider normal,” said the technician. “Yet they are factory made –with Star League-based stock numbers,” replied Ali.
“Do those numbers match anything in your database?” inquired As`Zaman.
“They do not, Master,” replied the servant. “I have nothing at all like them. The region and factory designations are totally unknown.”
“Any indication of who might have made those components?” asked Mohammed Bey.
“Nothing at all –and I have a list of all the known factories,” responded Ali. “From the damaged arms I have also determined that the Hunchback used an endo-steel inner structure.”
“That doesn’t answer how they slapped a pair of heavy autocannon into that monster,” remarked the teen. “But it seems a waste since they failed to put adequate armor on that battlemech so I wonder what they were thinking.”
Ali nodded and refilled his master’s tea.
Lojtnant Altmark stopped at the table, “Kapten, did you receive the message about the officers’ meeting today?”
As`Zaman placed his teacup on the table. “Yes, I did see the message and I shall be there, Lojtnant.”


Conference Room, 1500 Hours

Kapten Anderssen stood at the podium and waited for the last of the unit’s officers to enter the room and take a seat. She wore her usual Tyr dress uniform with a black armband. “My fellow officers, thank you for your attendance.” Anderssen turned to the briefing screen, “We have gathered data from the jumpship crews and have located the base from where Colonel Chun’s pirates operated.” An image of a stellar map appeared.
Wilfred Magnussen stood up; he also wore his dress uniform –including a brand new set of Major’s insignia. “From what intelligence we gathered from prisoners and crew, we will be facing a company of low-quality infantry at the most, with a few civilian vehicles rigged with weapons.”
Mohammed Bey stood up, “Pardon my asking, Major, but what is the purpose of this raid?” He pointed at the star chart, “Our return to the Inner Sphere shall be delayed by almost two months, our cargo bays are filled with some of the most valuable materials we could possibly find and we should be making our best efforts to get home.” There were subdued murmurs of agreement.
“I am simply throwing this idea out to the officers,” replied Magnussen. “We now have the location of the people who supported the pirates as well as their facilities.”
“I understand that, Major,” As`Zaman responded. “What could these pirates possibly have that we want? The pirates raided Midgard because they needed food and anything else they are short of –that base is probably short of food and has little or no supply resources.”
“I have to agree with the kapten,” injected Lojtnant Altmark. “As much as I would like to punish anyone associated with the pirates that killed our Friherr, it does our people a disservice to delay our return.”
Magnussen looked from one face to another, searching for support, “Well? Are there any other comments? Anyone?” He appeared disappointed. “Very well –Kapten Anderssen, continue with the announcements.” He turned and left the room.

“I respect the memory of the Friherr as much as anyone else,” said Mohammed Bey. “But taking a detour just to get revenge makes little sense.” He had waited for the room to clear before he voiced his opinion.
“It isn’t about revenge,” said Anderssen. “He has to establish himself as their leader and the Friherr’s heir.”
“Leadership isn’t about picking fights,” explained As`Zaman. “We are all out here for a specific mission –there were risks but the rewards are far more than the Friherr could have imagined. Magnussen has to realize that the mission isn’t accomplished until we get home.”
“Why is that you insist on making him look bad in front of his subordinates?”
“I don’t make him look bad,” said the teen with a chuckle. “He does that all by himself –what do you expect me to do, take him aside every time he puts his boot in his mouth?”
Anderssen’s eyes narrowed and Mohammed Bey could feel the room’s temperature drop a few degrees. “It isn’t his fault –hey, don’t look at me like that.”
“Why not? It’s obvious he’s not qualified to be an officer, let alone to run a unit,” said the Azami youth. “I’m not qualified either but the Friherr saw the need to grant me my honorary rank to avoid trouble from Magnussen.” He looked at her with a sidelong glance, “If this unit survives it will be despite him.”
“I think you’re being unfair,” responded the Tyr officer. “We have plenty of good officers to help him.”
“Does he know that?” asked the teen. “So far, all I see is a mechjock who wants to be in charge. What does he know about the administration of a fighting unit?”
“I shall be helping him –I acted as the Friherr’s secretary before my brother died,” she told him.
“Then you should run this unit, not him,” said As`Zaman. “I’m certain the other officers would agree.”
She shook her head, “I could never do that –he’s the Friherr’s heir.”
Mohammed Bey covered his eyes in exasperation, “Now we talk in circles –leadership isn’t a matter of blood but of education and action.” He walked over to the star chart still displayed on the wall. “In two month’s time we could be back in the Inner Sphere –at least the outer edge of it.” He pointed at Dabih, his home system, “It will be almost a year before I get home.”


Manaringaine, September 20, 3038, 1100 Hours

The Blood Ember took on water through a set of half-meter diameter pipes. The pipes cycled the water through filters. Two other dropships sat on the large atoll to take on water while dozens of Tyr members relaxed on the beach, some with portable stoves to cook food.
Mohammed Bey waxed his surfboard while Ali and Shakira set out a small feast.
“It’s been far too long since the last time I’ve gone surfing,” commented As`Zaman. He peered at the rolling waves. “The waves are one and a half meters and a little choppy –disappointing but nothing better in over a thousand kilometers.”
Ali hefted the larger board that they both fashioned out of polymer foam while the dropship was on its way to the planet. “I like this one, Master.” He took a block of wax and rubbed it over the smooth, upper surface.
“Larger boards are more stable,” said Mohammed Bey. “That makes them easier to ride.” He smiled when Tanaka approached. “Ready for your lesson?” He noted the way Ali averted his eyes –Leila wore a very revealing bathing suit.
“Yes I am, Mohammed,” she replied. “Oh, I am so pale!” She looked at her arms and hands then up at the sky. “I’d better put on some lotion.”
Ali’s and Mohammed Bey’s eyes met and they smiled. Shakira was glad her veil covered her face when she gave her husband’s leg a playful kick.

Leila sat on the blanket spread over the soft sand, a towel over her shoulders. Mohammed Bey brought her a steaming bowl of soup. “Thank you,” she said. “Shakira, did you make this tofu miso?”
The servant nodded, “Yes, Lojtnant Tanaka, I’m glad you like it.”
“This is very good,” commented Leila. She stirred the thin soup with bits of tofu and seaweed with her spoon.
“Thank you, my Lady,” replied Shakira.
“I don’t understand this,” mused As`Zaman. “This is probably one of the most ideal planets for settlement yet the people who administer this world insist on preserving its wilderness.” He shook his head. “There is more than enough wilderness on Periphery worlds –such so-called preservation is naïve.”
“How do you mean?” asked Tanaka.
“The average settled Periphery world has but a handful of people,” stated the teen. “These planets are populated with thousands when they could easily hold billions of people and still have vast areas of underused wilderness.”
Leila put her bowl down, “How could they when most of Periphery settlements are so primitive?”
Mohammed Bey motioned to the breaking waves, “Look at this world, for example.” He leaned over and used his index finger to draw circles in the sand. “This world’s oceans are brackish but it has adequate fresh water sources.” He connected a small circle to a larger circle. “Ten people operating a simple aquaculture operation –that’s fish ponds like the ones on Dabih. These fish ponds produce enough food products to feed just under a thousand people all year around.” He connected the larger circle to an even larger one. “In turn, the next tier of people raises sufficient crops and livestock to feed thousands more. Look at the farms on Midgard, even when they have marginal weather they export hundreds of tons of grain.” He connected the larger circle to a much larger circle. “And so on, until thousands feed millions and millions feed billions –even with the lowest technologies.” There was a soft chirping sound from the Azami youth’s accessory pack. Mohammed Bey pulled his miniature compad from the pack and glanced at the display. “Ali, afternoon prayer in thirty minutes.”
The technician bowed, “I shall make the preparations, Master.” He stood up and bowed once more. “By your leave, Lady Tanaka, Master.” He turned around and headed toward the Blood Ember.
Mohammed Bey stood up, “I have to make my preparations as well.” He bowed, “Lojtnant, Mrs. Iften…” The two young women bowed in return.
“So, how does it feel to be Mrs. Iften?” asked Leila.
Again, Shakira was glad that she wore her veil. She bowed her head in a shy manner. “Even though we are traveling a long way and I have no household yet, Lady Tanaka,” replied Shakira. “I am very happy. Ali may be a servant but he treats me very kindly and I love him.”
Leila sighed, “I guess you are very lucky –I know women who marry men of wealth and they are not so happy.”


1700 Hours

The sun stood low on the horizon and dozens of men and women from the dropships lazed on the sand, enjoying the last few hours they would spend on the planet. Several men scoured the beach for driftwood and piled them in an impressive mound for a bonfire.
Mohammed Bey and Ali strolled across the sand and waved to Leila and Shakira as they approached. The two young men wore traditional Berber robes and each held the handle of an insulated container.
“Welcome back,” said Tanaka. She made room on the blanket for As`Zaman.
The teen opened the container and pulled out a frozen cream bar, “Look what we have for you.”
“Ooh, chocolate!” replied Leila with a comical squeal. She took one from Mohammed Bey and stripped away the wrapper. “Arigato!” She looked over to Shakira. “Aren’t you going to have one?”
The young Azami woman politely shook her head.
“My lovely wife takes her meals in private,” Ali volunteered. “As per the traditions of our people.”
“Is that so?” asked Leila. “What about female cadets?”
“They are a rare exception,” answered As`Zaman. “They are learning to be warriors. Most, if not all of our female soldiers eventually wear a veil and cover their hair after they are married.”
“And they eat separately from the men?” asked the Combine woman.
“Yes, unless the situation prevents it,” replied As`Zaman.
Tanaka sat quietly and nibbled at her crème bar. “Look at that sunset.”


2000 Hours

The roaring bonfire sent golden sparks into the star-filled sky while the warriors of Tyr reveled in the flickering light. Mohammed Bey observed from a distance and casually puffed on his clay pipe. It had been a long day and he was glad he could relax and enjoy the pleasant weather before they had to depart.
Leila glided to his side and kissed his cheek, “Happy birthday –you should have told me.”
The teen shrugged, “It isn’t such a big deal.”
“Yes it is,” insisted Tanaka. “You’re eighteen years old –you should be celebrating.”
He looked at her and noticed that she wore the brilliant red cheongsam dress he always liked. He tapped his pipe against the side of his chair and emptied the ash onto the sand. “You look very lovely this evening, Lojtnant Tanaka.” The Azami teen rose to his feet and offered his arm. “Perhaps you’d like to join me in a walk under the brilliant canopy of stars.”


Unnamed System, October 15, 3038, 0200 Hours

“If we keep up this pace, we’ll be in Rasalhague in a month’s time,” announced Lojtnant Altmark. He sipped his coffee from its zero gravity container and looked to the others at the table.
Mohammed Bey nodded, “Relay my compliments to the skillful navigators and engineers that have managed to shorten our recharge and travel time.”
“We have taken a couple of calculated risks,” commented Kapten Anderssen, “but we have weighed the benefits against the risks.”
As`Zaman glanced down at his compad and called up a calendar on his display, “Very good –I guess I should finalize my reports before then.”
“I’ve read you report on the remains of the Raiders’ battlemechs,” said Anderssen. “I found them amazing but I’m afraid your findings will be met with skepticism.”
“I expect that,” admitted the teen. “The heat sinks we recovered are better than those of the Star League and they were manufactured in a factory.”
“Yes, and like the battlemechs, they were new,” added Altmark. “Nobody will believe it.”
“They’ll believe it when they see those components hooked up and working under controlled conditions,” As`Zaman declared. “What about the arm?”
The Kapten bowed her head, “I’m not saying you don’t have proof but people will refuse to believe your report even with what you’re bringing home with you.”
“Kapten As`Zaman,” said Altmark, “I’d like to see the images once more.”
The teen tapped his menu and called up a series of images as well as recorded portions of their technical study. The room went silent as the Tyr soldiers crowded around the holographic projection. “This is the only trace of on of the attack robots used by the Raiders in their attack on North Farm.” The image showed a battered mechanical arm terminating in a three-digit claw. “Note how that dark material seals the open shoulder joint –it is an organic crystalline matrix similar to hardened amber but far stronger.”
“What is its purpose?” asked Lojtnant Altmark.
As`Zaman shook his head, “We have theories but nothing solid.” He tapped a button. “This is the x-ray image.” The projection flickered and showed a metallic arm that encased what clearly appeared to be bones.
Anderssen gasped, “That looks like a human arm!”
“It is an arm,” stated Mohammed Bey, “but if it is human, the owner would be almost three meters tall.”
“Where did you find this?” asked Sergeant Nykvist. “The only one of us who damaged any of the Trolls was our Friherr.”
“After the last fight against those bottom feeders,” began Mohammed Bey, “one of our recovering teams found this Troll’s arm partially buried among the ruins of one of the buildings –I would guess that the Friherr’s Hunchback tore the arm from the Troll and trod on it, pushing it into the ground and eventually it got covered over with debris.”
“So, these Trolls aren’t robots at all,” stated Nykvist. “Who makes this kind of combat suits?”
Altmark shook his head, “Nobody’s going to believe it.”


Rasalhague, November 8, 3038, 1600 Hours

“Can we go to Reykjavik for some shopping?” Tanaka begged. “Please?”
Mohammed Bey frowned, “Are you sure you don’t want to be an executive’s wife? You’ve got the whining part down perfectly.”
The Combine woman pouted, “You never take me anywhere.”
When they arrived in system, they found a Kahman Mercantile jumpship waiting. As`Zaman received a message that several packets waited for him, including orders from Arkab Legion Headquarters. “Listen, I have to wait until I review my orders first.”
Leila’s face brightened, “I’ll get my things ready!” She spun around and launched herself down the corridor toward her cabin.
Reykjavik, Rasalhague, November 15, 3038, 0900 Hours

Tanaka seemed disappointed, “Rasalhague fashions are always so dowdy –only old people would be comfortable wearing this stuff.”
Mohammed Bey chuckled, “The Rasalhaguers aren’t known for innovation in clothing –if you recall, the Friherr’s people wore tunics, brooches and Viking war swords.” He signaled for a waiter. “Anyway, I doubt there is anything in this city that would go with long, blue hair.” The pair drank tea and enjoyed a light meal at a sidewalk café. The weather that week was unusually pleasant and after receiving a sizable initial payment for a mission accomplished, the battlemech pilots decided to play the roles of a rich couple on vacation.
“I’m happy just walking through major stores after so long,” said Leila. “Do you like my new gold bracelet?”
The teen looked at the gleaming band as she held it up to his face. “Don’t spend all your pay on trinkets; after all, if you’re serious about being a mechwarrior, you still have to buy your own battlemech.”
Tanaka leaned over, placed her arms around his neck and snuggled up to him, “But I have a rich, handsome boyfriend who can get me a battlemech by snapping his fingers…” She looked at him and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Really? Do I know this guy?”


Hotel Royal, 1800 Hours

The communicator chirped softly but annoyingly enough to wake Mohammed Bey from his nap. “As`Zaman…” The teen rubbed his eyes. “Yes, Leila, you did wake me.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position. “What about Ali and Shakira? I’ll have to call them and ask but most likely they’ll be having dinner in their room.” He looked at the time, “Listen, why don’t we discuss this over tea?”

“How is she doing –does she still have the hots for you?”
Mohammed Bey blushed slightly, “Cadet Major Morrigan is in good health and has excelled in her classes as well as exercises –she may even certify in aerospace fighters ahead of schedule.”
“Come on, I could detect a trace of ‘Desert Paradise’ perfume on the letters she sent you,” she teased. Sensing that As`Zaman was growing annoyed she changed the subject. “So, what’s your new assignment?”
The teen put his teacup on its plate and wiped his fingers with his linen napkin. “I am to take my Mongoose and my technician to Galatea and join a mercenary unit.”
“Are you serious?” asked Tanaka. She suddenly sat up straight and set down her own teacup.
“I have already made the travel arrangements,” replied Mohammed Bey. “I’ll be departing on tomorrow’s shuttle –my Mongoose has already been packed in a shipping case and transferred from the Blood Ember.”
“Hey, you’re taking me along with you!” exclaimed Leila. “You still have to get me my battlemech!”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Reykjavik, Rasalhague, November 16, 3038, 0300 Hours

“Pan-Rasalhague Shuttle Forty-seven, bound for the Jumpship Aeriner, is now boarding at Gate Twelve.”
Several people got up from their seats to stand in line.
“Aren’t you going to get in line?” Leila Tanaka struggled to heft the bags she insisted on carrying.
Mohammed Bey turned the page of the magazine he was reading and took a leisurely puff from his pipe. He looked up to his friend, “Why would I want to stand in line for ten minutes when I could wait until most of the passengers have been processed?” He looked over to his technician. “Ali, when the time comes please offer Miss Tanaka some assistance with her luggage.”
“Yes, Master,” replied the young servant. He sat next to Shakira, his wife. Neither of them seemed happy.
Tanaka sat down but kept an eye on the line of passengers. “Mohammed, are you certain Shakira can’t accompany us?”
The teen set his magazine aside, “I am certain.” He tapped his pipe over the ashtray to empty it then placed the pipe in its leather case. “I don’t know how long it will take us to find employment with a unit on Galatea –We’ll send for her once we’ve found permanent accommodations.” He brushed off his dishdasha robe, “Trust me, this is for the best. Shakira will be a married servant in my father’s household –nobody will dare bother her.”
“Lady Tanaka,” volunteered Ali, “what my Master says is true –I trust his judgment.” He took up a pair of Leila’s bags and winced at their weight.
As`Zaman smiled and took one of the bags, “There’s a reason why I check in all of my articles of luggage –it’s so I don’t have to carry them around the spaceport.”
Tanaka made a face and stuck out her tongue, “I need these things –my makeup and other stuff.”

Mohammed Bey had an affinity for aerodyne shuttles. Departure from a planet’s surface felt so much more natural. He settled into his comfortable seat and closed his eyes. He was usually fast asleep before the shuttle taxied to the runway. The shuttle thundered into the air, made a gradual right climbout and lifted its nose for its escape velocity burn. Drifting at the edge of sleep, As`Zaman felt Leila’s head resting on his shoulder. His hand lightly gripped hers before he once again reposed in the arms of Morpheus.


0900 Hours

Mohammed Bey looked over the packet of communications he had received when he arrived. He read over the message containing his orders:
“Return to your training at the Fourth Arkab Legion Reserve Battlemech Training Center until further notice.”
It was as if his journey to the Periphery had accomplished nothing. He returned the communiqué to the packet and pulled out the other envelopes. He looked at the fancy, handwritten envelope from Rachel Benhaddad –it contained an invitation to her wedding. He penned a short congratulatory letter to new Mr. and Mrs. Ikeda and placed it along with the outgoing correspondence.
The youth gathered his other letters and placed them into addressed envelopes.

To: Training Command, Fourth Arkab Legion Reserve Battlemech Training Center
From: Sergeant Mohammed Mazigh Hajj ben Maruf As`Zaman Bey

This letter is to inform you that I am officially requesting a leave of absence until further notice. Presently, the Arkab Legion has little to offer me in the way of position so I shall seek my fortune elsewhere.


Dear Uncle Ahmed,

May Allah find you in good health and continue his watch over you and your family. I certainly hope you find my reports on the Midgard salvage operation thorough and the inventories accurate.
I will not return to the Legion Reserve. Instead, I shall make my way to Galatea to find employment with a mercenary unit. I hope that with a combat unit I might be able practice those maneuvers and tactics as I learned them at Sun Tzu.

Please assure my mother that I can take care of Ali and myself –I promise to check into the Kahman mercantile office on Galatea from time to time.

I do have a favor to ask of you –the other mechwarrior that went with me to Midgard, Leila Tanaka, performed her duties far beyond expectation. She is accompanying me to Galatea with hopes of finding a suitable machine on the auction block for her to purchase. I am hoping that you and your company will show Miss Tanaka their gratitude by allowing her access to facilities and transportation once she has obtained her personal battlemech. It is the least you could do for her.

I shall contact you once Ali and I have found a unit as well as a permanent address.

Your nephew,

Mohammed Mazigh Hajj ben Maruf As`Zaman Bey


Dear Father,

Please take your time in reviewing the detailed reports, combat vids, other materials and information included with this letter.
My assignment to the Periphery was very rewarding as well as instructional, I shall always remember the lessons I have learned and hope that I may be a better leader of men because of them.
Anti-pirate operations is a dirty business and I am glad that will not have to deal with pirates for a while, if ever again.

I have decided not to return home for a while. I have received my orders to return to the Reserve for more training and I cannot do that –I do not see any purpose for it. Instead, I have requested a leave of absence and I shall head to Galatea to find a mercenary unit that will put my training and experience to use. While you might not approve, this is something I believe I must do.
Please let mother know that I shall be fine and give her my love. Tell Kalila and Malaika that I shall miss them and to make sure that they take care of Ali’s wife, Shakira. I shall send for Shakira once we have settled on Galatea.

Your son,

Mohammed Mazigh Hajj ben Maruf As`Zaman Bey
Sherif of the Barheilabad Rif, Imam of the Algedi Council

He took up a small bundle of three envelopes, read over them one more time before carefully putting them away, and on a sheet of fine vellum, wrote a brief message.

Cadet Major Morrigan,

I cannot begin to relate to you of what I have seen and experienced on my long journey into the Periphery. Battle is nowhere as clean as we play it out at the academy and fighting pirates is far more savage than our simulators could recreate. There is nothing to prepare you for the aftermath of battle –the bodies, the blood and the lives gone forever.
How fragile humans are! Look at all the hopes and dreams built up over the years only to be snuffed out in the blink on en eye.
If someone asked me what we fought over, what could I say? We killed over stores of grain. We slaughtered each other over preserved meat. We fought because somebody decided that others should raise and harvest –only to surrender their property at gunpoint. We fought because we happened to be there to tell the pirates “No.”
In the end, good people died. Bad people died too –some in horrible fashion but befitting their profession. I must admit that there was great satisfaction when I watched the last of them dance at the end of a noose and twitch at the end of a stake.
I hope I have not horrified you. There is the part of soldering that most try to forget when describing a battle. My thoughts were always on tactics and stratagems to pull victory out of impossible situations but how can anyone toss lives away? If there is anything I have learned is that now I value life far more than I ever have.
At Sun Tzu we learned the code of bushido –yet what do teens know? Yes, we could easily throw our lives away in battle but that is only a tiny part of the code. Bushido is the acceptance of death yet allows for a greater appreciation of life. Under bushido, one lives every day as it if were their last.
I have included a chip with some of my battle records, images and other data. There is so much more I wish I could tell you but cannot.
Once I arrive at my destination, I shall send you an update.
Sincerely,

Mohammed As`Zaman Bey

The teen checked the seals, affixed the postage tags on the letters and handed the bundle to an attendant, “Please have these sent out on the next jumpship heading for the Combine.”
The uniformed attendant took the bundle and bowed, “Yes sir.”

Tanaka’s eyes opened and she stretched, “Are we there yet?” She brushed her midnight blue bangs away from her eyes and smiled.
“We should be transferring to the Aeriner in a few minutes,” announced As`Zaman. “Did you get enough sleep?”
The young woman stretched, “I never get enough sleep.” She leaned forward to look over at Ali, “Hey there!”
The servant smiled and dipped his head, “My lady.”
Mohammed Bey opened his briefcase and took out his compad, “I have booked passage for the three of us on a series of jumphips along a well-traveled route to Skye with minimal stops.” He looked at Ali, “I wish I could have booked better rooms for you but I had to settle for what I could get at short notice.”
The young servant shrugged. He’d be happy to sleep at the foot of his master’s bed.
Leila touched his shoulder and looked at the teen with hopeful eyes, “Will we have time to go shopping when we make stops?”
“I’m hoping that we’ll make minimal stops but I have already made reservations at a resort on Lothan before we cross into Steiner space.” He held up a small set of memory chips, “We’re going to learn some German on the way there.”
Tanaka rolled her eyes, “After we spent weeks learning Swedish?”
“We did get to use it,” said Mohammed Bey. “And it will look good in your personnel file.”


Nadir Recharge Station, Radstadt, November 23, 3038, 1500 Hours

“We’ll only be here for a few hours,” warned As`Zaman. “Make sure you’re back on our jumpship before last call.”
“Don’t worry, I just have to get some new lipstick,” said Leila. She waved at the Azami youth before she turned toward the gift shops. Mohammed Bey watched as she traipsed off. Dressed in a blouse with a light blue floral pattern and mid-length red skirt, she looked very much the tourist.

“Do you have this in metallic?” Tanaka pointed at a color sample.
The young woman at the counter nodded, “Oh, yes we do.” She opened a drawer and handed Leila a dark plastic tube.
A pair of men in their late teens stood outside the shop and observed the Japanese women with interest.
“Look at her, she acts like she owns the place,” said one of them.
The other nodded and casually looked down the corridor, “Maybe we could take that Kurita scum down a peg or two.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Thank you very much,” said the cashier with a bow.
Tanaka returned the bow and said cheerfully, “Thank you! This was exactly what I was looking for.” She waved and stepped from the shop. With a glance at her watch, she decided to head for the gate where her jumpship waited.
A few steps behind the lone woman, a pair of men in faux-leather jackets strolled, looking for an opportune time and location to make their move.

Leila slowed and stopped to look at her reflection in a decorative mirror and happened to catch a glimpse of the two men out of the corner of her eye. She instinctively tapped a key on her compad and spoke a sentence, “Mohammed, I’m on my way to the ship and I think I’m being followed.” She turned toward her destination and felt the pounding of feet running up behind her.
Tanaka jumped to her right and spun around in time to see the two men closing on her. She threw her bag of cosmetics into the face of the closest assailant and kicked, driving the six-centimeter spike of her heel into the man’s thigh, about a hand span above the knee. The man howled in pain and fell while the other grasped the sleeve of the young woman’s blouse. He tried to pull her off-balance, tearing the sleeve instead.
“Now I’m really mad!” shouted Tanaka. She spun her torso and drove the heel of her palm into the taller man’s nose then followed up with a knee to the groin.
By the time security showed up, they found a furious, blue-haired Draconis Combine woman kicking at a pair of bleeding, cowering teens.

As`Zaman arrived in time to help fill out the incident report. He placed his robe over Leila’s shoulders, “I’m sorry I’m late.” After he looked at the two men, one taken away on a stretcher, he commented, “Maybe I would have just gotten in your way.” It was obvious that Tanaka was still upset so he placed his arms around her and whispered, “Everything will be fine, I’m just glad that you are safe.”


Lothan, December 10, 3038, 0800 Hours

The chauffer bowed deeply, “Sayyid As`Zaman, we have been expecting you and your entourage.”
Mohammed Bey returned the bow with a slight nod, “Very good, we have been traveling for some time and would like to relax.” Dressed in traditional Berber attire, he motioned imperiously for the men with their luggage to load the bags into the waiting limousine. “Ali!”
“Yes Master!” the teen servant sprang to attention, eyes forward. He wore Berber clothing but not as ornate as his master’s.
“See that the lady is taken care of,” commanded the Azami teen.
“Yes my Bey!”
On Mohammed Bey’s insistence, Tanaka wore traditional Berber clothing as well but covered from head to toe in blue-grey cloth, her face hidden from view. Willing to play along, she remained silent and nodded before taking her place in the limousine.

“So,” whispered Leila, “where are you taking us?”
As`Zaman sat back in his comfortable seat and closed his eyes, “My father told me about this resort when his unit passed through here, years ago.”
“A resort, master?” asked Ali. “Tell us about it.”
“We shall be staying at the Ngala Grand Hotel,” replied Mohammed Bey. “It has rooms worthy of nobility and a restaurant that is almost legendary.”


1100 Hours

The Ngala Grand Hotel appeared little different from any other building in a tropical setting. Palm trees, exotic flora, whitewashed walls reflected stereotypical expectations. Among the staff at the hotel were numerous Azami adherents of Hausa descent.
When Mohammed Bey and his entourage swept through the entrance, several of the dark-skinned employees rushed forward to serve the teen. Ali stepped forward to assign porters and spoke to the desk manager while his master patiently waited.
“Suite 101 for the Sayyid and suite 103 for the lady,” said the manager. He waited for the guests and porters to proceed to their rooms before he alerted the hotel’s general manager.
“Once we get to our rooms, you may return to the spaceport to tend to the Mongoose,” whispered As`Zaman.

Leila Tanaka could not believe the suite she had to herself. It was spacious and had a terrace that over looked a view of forestland and distant gray mountains. The furnishings reminded her of a North African influence with exotic woods, her large poster bed covered with a fine mesh screen. She let out a squeal of delight when she saw the carved marble bath and wasted little time in covering the spacious counter with her collection of cosmetics.
“A real bath after over a year…” She let the water run and poured scented oils into the steaming tub. Leila quickly undressed and slipped into the foaming water. She reached over to her compad and set her automessage, “I’m not available at the moment, please try again at thirteen hundred hours.”

The tailor took his measuring tape and checked his figures once more. He tapped the screen on his compad and stood back from his customer. “You may relax my Sayyid.”
“Thank you,” replied Mohammed Bey. He adjusted his new robe and took a seat. “I have been traveling for over a year and some of my clothes need replacing.” He reached for a catalogue printed with color images.
The older man nodded, “I shall have the first of your order ready in an hour, my Sayyid.”
“I also require new boots, sandals and shoes,” commented the Azami youth. “It says here that there you also make them from elephant hide.”
The tailor ran his bony fingers through his kinky gray hair, “Let me check our inventory –our elephant hide products are custom made here.” He glanced at his compad’s tiny screen and sighed. “We only have enough hide for sandals –maybe a belt as well.”
As`Zaman looked disappointed, “We’ll be here for a week, when do you expect more elephant hide?”
“It isn’t a matter of getting more hide,” said the tailor. “We have elephants here but the demand for products has dropped off –it just isn’t worth it, my Sayyid.”


1200 Hours

Mohammed Bey stood next to the keawe wood fence and let the young elephant take a banana slice from his hand. He asked his guide, “So, at two years old the meat is still tender while they provide quality hide?”
“Yes, my Sayyid,” the guide replied. Dressed as a colonial solder in khaki with a red tarboush, the guide, also a Hausa displayed reverence for the youth and his rank. “You have made a good choice, he is flawless. Our tanners could have the hide processed in the next couple of days and your order filled before you depart.”
“Send half the meat to your kitchen –let them display their skill over the next few days,” ordered the youth. “Have the rest sealed for transport –I’ll take some with me.”
“As you desire, my Sayyid,” said the guide with a low bow.


1400 Hours

“Room service.”
As`Zaman opened the door of his suite and allowed the servant wheel the service tray into the room, “Very good.” He held out some paper currency.
“Oh, no, my Sayyid,” the servant waved off the tip.
The youth bowed, “Perhaps I shall see you at afternoon prayer –may peace be with you.”
“Wa alaikem salaam!” The servant bowed and departed.
Mohammed Bey closed the door, “All clear!”
Leila Tanaka peeked from the hall, “Your suite has three bedrooms!”
The young Azami filled two ceramic cups with hot tea, “Yes, what about it?” He took a sip of his tea and uncovered two steaming bowls of soup, “Come and sit down, we’re eating light because I’ve already made reservations for dinner.”
The young woman peeled away her veil and uncovered her hair, “The three of us could have shared this room.”
“This isn’t some barracks,” said As`Zaman. “I am an Imam –it would be improper for us to share a room.”
“You can do the bit with the sword, can’t you?” she asked. “I mean, we’ve shared a room before.” She sat down at the table and Mohammed Bey placed her bowl in front of her.
“This is entirely different, Miss Tanaka,” answered the teen. “These are my people and they have high expectations of me. We are being treated as important dignitaries because of my rank and station among those of my faith.” He stirred his soup, which was a thick beef broth with assorted vegetables. “This was one of the worlds involved in the Ronin Wars –my father was assigned to lead a DCMS unit here.”
Leila nodded, “I was wondering why everyone seemed to know who or what you are.” She buttered a slice of flat bread and dipped it into her soup, “This smells good.”
“It is,” replied the teen. “I have dinner reservations for twenty hundred hours so you have plenty of time to go shopping,” he told her. “I have taken the liberty to sign you up for a full pedicure, manicure, massage and whatever else is provided in this brochure.” He handed her a folded paper.
“You got me all this?” She looked over the brochure, “Hot mud bath?” She jumped up and kissed his cheek, “Thank you!”


1600 Hours

Ali sat in the Mongoose’s cockpit and closed his eyes. He relied on his ears, trained to listen for the sounds this battlemech made –the hum of the fusion power plant, the whir of cooling fans, and the hiss of flowing coolant. All of it sounded as it should; all in the right combination, the right volume and the correct pitch. He checked the time and decided to run the diagnostics one more time before having supper and checking into the nearby hotel for the week.

Tanaka lay on the massage table while a hefty Hausa woman with midnight dark skin and powerful fingers kneaded her back muscles with incredible skill. The young Combine woman did her best to stifle her moans but after months of zero-gravity travel, hauling luggage through starports and piloting a battlemech, this was the best treatment she had received in her life and didn’t want the masseuse to stop. Tanaka admired her newly lacquered nails and smiled. The artificial lengths gleamed in the light, a mixture of bright Chinese red with diamond dust.

Mohammed Bey looked over Tanaka’s shopping list and marked each purchase for approval. “What is this one?”
The attendant looked at the screen, “Ah, the lady wanted a fur stole and the variety she desired was not available at this time, my Sayyid.”
“Don’t you have the animals available on this reserve?”
The attendant nodded.


1700 Hours

“How many more are required?” asked As`Zaman. Despite the refrigeration, he had a thin layer of perspiration above his brow. “I’ll be hungry tonight.”
The uniformed Hausa guide checked his own compad, “According to the tailor’s instructions, three more.”
“I’ll get the last three myself,” announced the teen as his hobnail boots crunched over the ice. He rolled up his sleeve and hefted the padded metal bar in his gloved hand as he followed the snow-white baby seals into a corner. The guide stood by, ready to hand their honored guest the skinning knife.

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Lothan, December 15, 3038, 2100 Hours

There are few eateries in the known universe as exotic as the Sahara restaurant located at the Ngala Hotel on the Free Rasalhague Republic world of Lothan. Surrounded by a privately owned game reserve, the Sahara’s menu included any of a score of Terran creatures once so few in number that they required government protection. Bred and raised under controlled conditions, a rich patron could dine on elephant steaks or crocodile kiev. The Ngala was a haven for the wealthy who desired anonymity –the hotel, surrounded by its game preserve, staffed by uniformed and armed guards and further encircled by and electric fence, proved the ideal location for nobles to escape unnecessary public scrutiny and the prying eyes of the paparazzi.
The Sahara played host to a party of unusually noisy Rasalhague nobles that night. Most likely, on winter break from the tedium of university life, a handful of boisterous young men and women celebrated the next generation of “Nouveau Vikings” –the people who would lead Rasalhague into its Golden Age. The mead and beer flowed freely and despite how loud the small group might have been, nobody bothered to complain about them.

Cigar smoke filled Mohammed Bey’s private dining cubicle. He and Leila Tanaka had finished their repast of seal in orange sauce with couscous and enjoyed a desert of frozen mochi with honeyed figs.
Tanaka puffed on her cigar before tasting another spoonful of dessert, “I can’t believe how much you’ve spoiled me over the last few days.”
“You deserve it,” replied As`Zaman. He sat back on the cushions and looked at Leila through the smoke rising from the tip of his cigar. “This sort of celebration will end when you return to the Combine and join a line unit so enjoy it while you can.”
“I know what you mean, Mohammed,” she said. “The past week has been almost like a dream –especially compared to what we faced in the Periphery.” She looked at him, “I wish I could do something for you.”
The teen frowned, “That isn’t necessary –I prize you as a friend and I want you to succeed in your dream of being a mechwarrior in the Draconis Combine.”

“My Sayyid,” announced a voice from outside of their private booth. It was a servant. “A message for the Sayyid.” A swarthy hand holding a brass tray with a white envelope slipped through the thick cloth that covered the booth’s entrance.
Mohammed Bey took the envelope from the tray and dropped a small gold coin in its place, “Allah goes with thee.”
“Allah’s blessings, my Sayyid.”
Leila placed her cigar on a ceramic holder and leaned over to watch as As`Zaman opened the envelope. “What is it?”
The teen unfolded the sheet of fine vellum:

Your Excellency,
Please forgive this unwarranted intrusion but I could not help but notice your presence albeit fleeting. It was immediately apparent that I beheld an individual of noble blood, of unimpeachable honor and unparalleled skill.
It is my hope that through this short missive that my family could enlist your aid in a matter of honor and justice. I am well aware of the reputation of your people as fighters, especially skilled with blades. Those of my small noble family are not so fortunate and dare not challenge a young nobleman who has dealt my family a grievous offense to our honor.
We seek your Excellency’s aid as one able to wash the stain of dishonor from my kin’s escutcheon by assuming the role of Champion and challenging a lord who abuses his position as a noble.
Of course, I cannot include any details in this brief note but I shall be ready to answer any of your questions if you should decide to meet me tonight by the Tahat Pavilion at 11 p.m.

Respectfully,

Friherre Carl Reinfeldt

“Well, this is something different,” commented Mohammed Bey.
Tanaka sat back and looked at him, “It looks like he wants to hire an assassin.” She shook her head, “I don’t know about this.”
As`Zaman frowned, “Don’t be ridiculous –if he wanted an assassin, then he would have hired one.” He looked over the page, “Look, I have time to ask around and access the local interweb.” He folded the vellum sheet and returned it to the envelope. “It would be rude of me not to show, even if I were to refuse.”

2255 Hours

The Tahat Pavilion was little more than large tent built over a polished marble floor. Spread over the wooden frame like the wings of a massive bat, the polymer film canopy shaded guests from the fierce sunlight during the day. Black against the starlit sky, the canopy cast a dark shadow that swallowed everything beneath it.
Over the chirping chorus of crickets, the soft crunch of approaching footsteps on the sandy gravel heralded the approach of a lone figure. He paused before the pavilion’s entrance, placed a pipe in his mouth and casually lit it, sending thick smoke up into the clear, calm air.
“Prompt, as expected, your Excellency.” The voice was deep and calm, mature and spoke Standard with a notable Swedish accent.
Mohammed Bey took a puff from his pipe and turned in the direction from where the voice came. Despite the shadow of the canopy, he could discern a figure seated beside one of the supporting poles. “I am expected to leave within the next forty-eight hours, if I am to do anything, it must meet my schedule.”
“I have a shuttle and jumpship waiting,” said the figure. He stood up and took a few steps toward the teen. “They will take you anywhere you desire if you accomplish this act.” He hefted a warsword traditionally carried by Rasalhague nobility and senior officers. “You must use this.”
As`Zaman nodded, “Fair enough, I shall do it –have a time and place?”
The figure started, “But I have not told you anything –have you no questions?”
“I know my target is the only son of one of Rasalhague’s Världherren,” replied the youth. “Unlike his father, Markus Wallenburg seems to have a unique ability to use and abuse those around him with little concern of the consequences.”
The elder shook his head, “Amazing –Wallenburg is indeed the target.” He held the sword out and the Azami teen took it. “Tomorrow night, your target shall be entertaining his entourage at one of the clubs in town –careful; he is well-known as a swordsman.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “I shall make certain he knows this vendetta is for Reinfeldt honor.”
“Here,” the man handed As`Zaman a bundle, “I ask you to wear these articles –they belong to the worthy man he murdered.”


December 17, 3038, 0130 Hours

The city of Saldhana was half-asleep. The night was warm with only the slightest breeze, the sound of laughter carried through the air. Gas lamps hissed and glowed warmly, creating islands of light along the great canal. Every fifty to a hundred meters a sturdy basalt bridge spanned the dark, murmuring water. Occasionally a covered gondola would pass, its owner gently steering it along the waterway. Fireflies languidly danced among the terraced gardens and hanging flowers while crickets chirped.

Olaf and Markus laughed as they left the gambling house, each of the young men had a lovely courtesan for the evening and so far, the evening had gone very well. They both had pockets bulging with winnings from the dice tables, the mead had flowed freely and the women that gently gripped their arms were very willing. The two young men looked forward a pleasurable night, indeed.
Leaving his smiling courtesan seated in an alcove, Markus stepped out onto the ornate basalt bridge that spanned the wide canal that separated the tall buildings and squinted into the darkness, looking for a gondola to wave down. He passed a swarthy-skinned man, dressed in outdated fashion, who leaned against the railing of polished stone. The wide-brimmed slouch hat he wore hid most of his features.
“Did you just tread upon my shadow?” sounded a youthful, accented voice; the tone had more than a hint of anger.
Markus halted and turned to face the man. Sure enough, he had to tread upon the man's shadow to cross the bridge. “What of it?” thought Markus “–this fool must be drunk.” He decided to set things straight. “My good sir,” began the youth, “please note that I did not intentionally tread upon thy shadow yet having inadvertently done so, I fail to see any harm committed.” He bowed slightly, “Good day to you.”
“Not so fast, my cowardly peacock,” growled the stranger, turning. He flicked his coat open.
In the flickering lamplight, Markus could easily make out the dull metallic gleam of an old sword hilt at the shorter man's side. A tingle of fear danced up and down Markus' spine, this stranger threatened violence. Markus might have to teach this old sot how to respect his betters.
“Cousin,” called Olaf, “is something the matter?”
Markus could not take his eyes from the old sword hilt. Did the stranger’s clothes look familiar as well? He could hear the sound of Olaf's boots slowly approaching. “It is nothing, cousin,” replied Markus. A second later, he felt something sting the right side of his face. In his shock, he looked down and saw a leather glove. The stupid darkie had flung a glove into his face! Tears of shocked anger welled in Markus' eyes as he glared at the stranger, his hand flew to the jeweled hilt of his own sword and his left foot moved back into a guardant stance.
“No, cousin!” warned Olaf. “It is forbidden to bandy with blades in public without official leave!”
“Olaf,” said Markus, “this stranger has offended me and I shall not be satisfied with anything less than his worthless life!”
“What is all this noise?” It was an elderly man leaning from a balcony above the opposite end of the bridge.
“Forgive us, good citizen,” replied Olaf nervously. “We shall be leaving forthwith...” He put his hand upon Markus's shoulders and attempted to steer him back toward the gambling house.
The stranger stood silent, his steely eyes fixed upon Markus.
“I see a brawl,” said the old man, “Mayhaps I should summon the night watch.” Olaf paled. He knew the night watch would put an embarrassing end to his evening. Markus shook off his grip. The two courtesans whispered to each other as they watched from the alcove, their painted faces hidden behind bejeweled fans.
“This dog dies tonight!” announced Markus, his face still stinging.
The stranger looked up to the man in the window, “This is a vendetta of honor.” He pointed at the glove that lay on the flagstones, “I champion the noble family of Reinfeldt.” He had recognized the elderly man’s voice and smiled, “This fight is now official.”
The elder man nodded, retreated from the balcony and closed the shutters.

There were few people out at the late hour as the two men arrayed themselves at either end of the dark stone span. Near the entrance to the gambling house stood Markus, he had removed his damask coat. His embroidered waistcoat was set with precious stones, his white linen blouse with wide, ruffled sleeves hung loose upon his thin, bony frame. Markus wore a pair of tight, mottled green gloves made from the soft, scaly hide of the starback tree snake. His fine low boots matched his gloves. In his right hand, he gripped a traditional Viking-pattern warsword of the latest design –a long, wide blade, a sturdy hilt to protect the hand. The twin edges were razor sharp and highly polished –this would not be the blade's first blooding. Nevertheless, Markus shivered slightly.
Olaf stood next to Markus, reminding him of their fencing lessons, giving him last minute pointers and advice.

The stranger stood at the other end of the bridge, in front of a restaurant, closed at this hour. He still wore his felt slouch hat with a wide brim. His short cape lay draped over the railing near the stairs that led down to water, where a covered gondola lay moored. The gondolier leaned against his tiller and calmly smoked his pipe.
The stranger wore a plain doublet, which was at least a decade behind fashion. It had seen better days as did the yellowed ascot he wore. His breeches were thick wool, with leather sewn onto the seat for riding. He wore heavy gauntlets, cracked and crusty with age. His riding boots, scuffed and patched denoted that he had traveled far. The stranger's sword was gray with years of use and slightly heavier than Markus's delicate weapon. The guard was dark iron and brown with a patina of old rust. Instead of the fashionable jeweled hilt, there was a simple array of chiseled runes. Instead of warming up as Markus did, the stranger stood motionless, eyes half closed, blade held down at his side, tip almost touching the ground.

Olaf stepped to the center of the bridge, “I must ask both worthy gentlemen, is there no other way to resolve your argument?”
“No!” replied Markus, with a hint of impatience. His blade swept the air before him.
The stranger quietly shook his head.
“I have done my legal duty,” said Olaf. “The gentlemen are aware of the conditions –the fight concludes when one side yields or cannot fight any longer.” The young man moved to the doorway by the gambling house. “If the gentlemen are ready...”
“Aye.” replied Markus.
The stranger nodded.
“You may commence,” announced Olaf.
Markus immediately assumed his fighting stance, right foot forward, blade out, left hand in front of his chest ready to deflect any attack. He cautiously closed with his still motionless opponent.
The two courtesans sipped mead as they sat in the alcove, eager to see the spectacle.
Olaf stepped back into the alcove and took the hand of his lady. His forehead beaded with perspiration, he poured himself some mead.
When Markus closed to where he believed he was in range, he suddenly lunged forward, his blade aimed at the stranger's heart. The stranger's blade moved casually and he stepped back half a pace. Markus's sword went wide of its mark. The young man retreated, blade out, warding the expected counterstroke. Markus smiled. The stranger was lucky but not very fast.
The stranger stood motionless, eyes half closed, blade down at his side, tip almost touching the ground.
Markus danced forward again, sword flicking left and right. The stranger caught the tip of Markus' sword with his iron guard, the tip leaped up and with his sword, reached forth. Markus felt a sting on the back of his left hand. He leaped back into a wary crouch. He looked at the back of his hand and saw the small hole on his glove and a tiny bit of blood welling in the hole. He scowled at his opponent.
The stranger stood motionless, eyes half closed, blade down at his side, tip almost touching the ground.
Markus flexed his left hand; the pain was only a slight annoyance, the thought of a ruined glove made him angrier
Olaf imagined all the moves he and Markus practiced at the academy. Considered among the best fencers of their class, why was Markus being so cautious? The stranger could not even hold his blade correctly.
Markus' heart was pounding. It took all his effort to keep from shaking. “Too much mead,” he thought. His palms were cold and wet with perspiration. The wound at the back of his left hand throbbed. How could he possibly fight with all these distractions?
The stranger stood motionless, eyes half closed, blade down at his side, tip almost touching the ground.
Markus decided that he would allow the stranger to attack. “Yes, let him make the mistakes. The stranger is not that good –anyone can defend.”
The stranger, who had not yet moved his feet since the fight started, slowly extended his sword arm at shoulder height, blade held straight out, pointing at Markus. He advanced a step.
Olaf's eyes widened. “Cousin!” he shouted, stepping up to the edge of the bridge, “He uses the Circle of Death!”
Markus stepped back a pace, then stepped to his right. The tip of the stranger's blade followed Markus's movement, aimed at his chest.
The stranger stepped forward.
Maestro Tomo sometimes demonstrated the Circle of Death with his advanced students at the academy. Why did he not pay more attention? Why couldn't he remember the weaknesses of the style? There weren’t any! The back of Markus' left hand hurt.
The stranger stepped forward.
Markus had stepped back as far as he dared. He would retreat off the bridge and onto the narrow walk in front of the gambling house. No room to maneuver. Perhaps the stranger did not know the Circle of Death- Yes! Only a sword master would. He was faking. Markus grew angry with himself, he had allowed this dark-skinned charlatan to intimidate him, to retreat and surrender ground without so much as one attack!
The stranger stepped forward.
Markus dashed at the stranger, sword upraised. The stranger's left leg stepped back to the right, Markus's blade missed wide. There was a burning pain in Markus's chest, just below the sternum, intense, numbing. All went black.
Markus could hear Olaf's voice calling to him. He opened his eyes. On the ground, looking up… The bridge… Blurry, everything all blurry. Markus could barely make out a dark shape as it moved away, melded into the shadows and disappeared.
Olaf called, his voice faded. Why can't my eyes focus? Cold... So cold… Cold and dark.

The covered gondola glided up to the small wharf at the foot of a villa. The stranger paid the gondolier with gleaming coins. With a nod, the young man pulled out his pipe and placed a pinch of weed into the bowl. The stranger stepped onto the wharf and followed the tree-lined path to the villa as the gondola went on its way.

“Are you certain he was dead?” The familiar voice drifted from the shadows.
“Aye.” said the Mohammed Bey with certainty. “The wound was mortal; he bled to death while I watched.”
“I shall send my condolences to his grieving parents,” replied the voice, “A pity he was their only son.”
The teen returned the bundle and sword to its owner, “Let us hope that the lesson shall not be lost.”
“You may keep all that” stated the voice, “Our family remembers my nephew well enough.” He handed the teen a briefcase. “Here is another token of our gratitude.”
As`Zaman took the briefcase and turned to leave but paused. “You said he was a swordsman.”
“He boasted such.”
“He was a gaukler, a jongleur but no swordsman,” said the youth. “I should kill his sword master out of principle.”
“Now you speak like a Maestro,” the elder laughed.

The city of Saldhana was half-asleep. The night was warm with only the slightest breeze, the sound of laughter carried through the air. Gas lamps hissed and glowed warmly, creating islands of light along the great canal. Every fifty to a hundred meters a sturdy basalt bridge spanned the dark, murmuring water. Occasionally a covered gondola would pass, its owner gently steering it along the waterway. Fireflies languidly danced among the terraced gardens and hanging flowers while crickets chirped.


Fort Loudon, December 18, 3038, 1000 Hours

“Welcome to the Lyran Commonwealth, Friherr As`Zaman,” the Customs agent looked over the teen’s papers. “Have you anything to declare?”
“Please examine my cargo manifest,” replied Mohammed Bey.
“One twenty-fine ton battlemech, personal equipment, preserved elephant meat and other by-products…” the agent looked up at the teen. “I see you are heading to Galatea.”
“Yes, I shall be visiting the office there,” said As`Zaman.
The agent adjusted his glasses and looked at Tanaka, “The lady too?”
Leila ran her slim fingers through the thick white fur of her wrap and winked at him.
“Yes,” added the Azami youth. “Miss Tanaka is my secretary.” He looked at the large digital time display, “We shall be here at the recharge station for only a few hours before we continue on our way.” He shifted his stance, he was still breaking in his new pair of elephant-hide boots and they were still a little stiff. He had three pairs made, a matching belt, a jacket and still had half a hide remaining.
The agent handed the pair their papers, “Everything is in order, please enjoy your stay.”
“Danke schön,” said Tanaka with a playful bow. She linked her arm with Mohammed Bey’s and they continued on their way through the gate into the station.

“There seems to be a lot of traffic through this area,” commented Leila.
Mohammed Bey nodded, “The border with Rasalhague makes sense but I did notice the number of military transports as well as civilian.”
“Something’s up,” whispered Tanaka.
“Let’s not discuss any more until we get back to the shuttle,” whispered As`Zaman. “I have an idea that we’re going to be watched.”
Leila pulled him toward a restaurant, “Come on, boss, I’m hungry!”
Mohammed Bey rolled his eyes and went along with her.


1400 hours

Mohammed Bey sat relaxed in the artificial gravity ring of the jumpship. He studied the screen of his compad when Tanaka approached him.
“Hey, what are you doing, just sitting there?” she asked.
The teen looked up, “I’m plotting our next series of jumps –the traffic here is so busy, we could cut our travel time if we hitched rides with mercantile traffic.” He showed her the path along the Lyran border.
Leila read off the systems on the path, “Meacham, Morningside, Sakhalin, Phalan, Baxter, Ryde, Unukalhai then Skye.” She pouted, “Does that mean we don’t stop for Chrissamassu shopping or to celebrate the New Year?” She put her chin on his shoulder, “Please?”
“I’ve figured out how we could trim our travel time down to under three weeks,” said As`Zaman. “Ryde isn’t my idea of a holiday stop anyway.” He pointed at the route, “If we are lucky, we could be on Galatea in just over two weeks –I know we’ll miss two holidays important to you but the earlier we get there the sooner we can find you your battlemech.”
“You are right, of course,” Tanaka nodded sadly. “And then I’ll go back to Luthien to join the DCMS.”
As`Zaman noted the tone of her voice, “Well, isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes, that’s what I want,” she replied. “Then I won’t see you for a long time –that makes me sad.” She settled into the chair next to his.
Mohammed Bey took her hand, “I must admit that I was very happy to see you again –I’m thankful that Uncle Ahmed hired you to come along with us.”
“If it wasn’t for you,” she said, “I’d still be in Luthien hosting boring parties with my mom.”
“I’m sorry that we have to travel during those holidays that are important to you,” he told her. “I promise when we get to Galatea, Ali and I shall help you find the best battlemech available on the auction block and help you ship it back home.”
Leila leaned over to kiss his cheek, “I don’t mind as long as I’m with you.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

Algedi, Azami Autonomous Enclave, December 28, 3038

Like the other young novices, Mernissa Tafsut wore purdah when out in public –the full body-covering robes and head covering that exposed only the hands and face. The many more conservative tribes required face covering as well, with a stitched lattice veil over the eyes. The young woman wore a simple, mid-length dress –similar to one commonly worn by servants as she made her way down the candle-lit corridors rough-hewn from the rocky depths beneath sun-baked mountains. Mernissa slowed her pace as she approached a widening of the corridor that terminated at a heavy, wood-paneled door flanked by two women in the simple work clothes, similar as that worn by the younger woman. The two guards had semiautomatic rifles slung at their shoulders.
Mernissa bowed and presented a small envelope, “Novice Tafsut –I carry an important message for the Sayyadina.”
One of the guards touched a commlink at her ear and whispered a short sentence. She motioned for the young woman to step forward as the door slowly opened.

Sayyadina Tawmat held the paper missive in her slim, wrinkled fingers and nodded to the young woman, “You may go, novice.” She placed the message on her desk and turned to the middle-aged woman attendant, “Sister, I want the file on Mohammed As`Zaman Bey.”
The attendant nodded, “Yes, Sayyadina.” She powered up her holographic terminal and brushed her fingers over the glowing images that floated above her desk. “As`Zaman, Mohammed Bey, Sayyadina –his file is open.”
The elder woman tapped her keyboard and a holographic display floated over her desk, “Ah, this one…” She looked up and noticed that Mernissa remained in the office. “I said, you may go, novice.” The Sayyadina frowned when she looked over the data on the screen.
Novice Tafsut spun on her heel and headed to the door.
“Wait, novice,” called the old woman. “Go to the weapons training area and have Novice Aliyyah Waryaghar report to me immediately!”
“Yes, Sayyadina!” Mernissa bowed and scampered through the door to obey the holy woman’s command.


Galaport, Galatea, January 17, 3039, 0830 Hours

Mohammed Bey held the taxi’s door open to allow Leila Tanaka to enter the vehicle first. Ali helped the driver load their luggage and took his place in the spacious passenger compartment.
“Hotel Athena, bitte,” announced As`Zaman. He sat back in the soft seat as the taxi pulled away from the terminal building.
Leila opened her compact and examined her makeup in the small mirror, “Finally, a comfortable room and fancy dinner…” She shot a sideways glance at Mohammed Bey.
“That’s a good idea,” mused Mohammed Bey. Tanaka always played this game. “How does French sound to you?”
“That’s a great idea,” replied Leila. “Of course, I need a new dress for that.”
Ali smiled, grateful that Mohammed Bey would go shopping with Tanaka and he would oversee the delivery of As`Zaman’s Mongoose to its temporary hangar.


1100 Hours

“That’s the seventh dress you’ve tried on,” said Mohammed Bey. “I don’t believe this store has anything in your size.”
Tanaka grumbled, “Lyran women are such hefty cows –I’m not surprised this place doesn’t have anything in my size.”
As`Zaman slyly looked around to make certain there was not anyone listening, “Some of those hefty cows might hear you, my Asian princess –if you’re going to make those kind of comments, stick to Japanese.”
She stamped her foot and stuck her tongue out at him, “You’re no fun.”
The Azami youth laughed, “I could have suggested that you grow another thirty centimeters and gain twenty kilograms.”
“Just for that, I ought to force to stand around while I buy underwear,” she pouted.
He rolled his eyes, “Please, anything but that.” He grinned, “Where are you going to do that, in the children’s section?”

“Eine Tasse Tee, bitte,” ordered the teen. He waited for the waiter to leave before opening his newspaper. “There’s an auction two days from now –we could look at the battlemechs tomorrow –we could have Ali inspect them. Are you interested?”
Leila wrinkled her nose as she thumbed through As`Zaman’s German phrase book, “Swedish was bad enough, why do you want to learn this confusing language?”
Mohammed Bey folded his paper, “I have no idea who I’ll be working for so I may as be ready.” He continued, “If I’m going to be stationed here, I may as well familiarize myself with the language most of the people here understand.” He waved the newspaper at her, “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
“The auction is this Saturday,” said As`Zaman. “We can inspect the machines that are up for bidding tomorrow at zero-nine hundred –Ali could come with us to evaluate them.”


Restaurant Antoine, 2030 Hours

“How is the pâté de lapin?”
Leila took a sip of her red wine, “Delicious, Mohammed, I can hardly wait until the main course.” She looked at their surroundings. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I’m only paying the bill –I’d say you brought me here,” replied As`Zaman. As usual, he sipped hot tea with his meal.
“You chose the restaurant,” said Tanaka.
The Azami teen rolled his eyes, “You did want to eat at somewhere good, didn’t you?”
Leila made a face, “I’ll let you know how good this place is after I’ve had dessert.” She leaned over and whispered, “Why isn’t Ali here?”
“Ali is my servant,” he answered. “He and I may occasionally dine together while traveling but it really isn’t proper –I mustn’t spoil him.”
“It doesn’t seem fair,” said Leila. “He does so much for you.”
“It is his duty,” responded As`Zaman. “What makes me unusual is the fact that I travel with only one servant –Ali acts as my valet as well as the technician for my battlemech.”
Tanaka frowned, “Yes, sometimes I wonder how you get along.”
“When you have your own battlemech and a full-time technician, you shall understand,” Mohammed Bey told her. “And when you are a senior officer, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a servant of your own as well.”
Leila’s face brightened, “Do you really think I’ll be a senior officer one day?”
As`Zaman saw the waiter approaching with a tray heavy with food, “I have a lot of faith in your ability as a pilot –you will go far.” Behind the approaching waiter, the teen noticed a couple of well-dressed people sitting at a table across the room. The oldest of the pair, with his back visible, was a man in his thirties while the other seemed to be a boy in his mid to late teens. The strange teen’s gaze met Mohammed Bey’s and he gave a barely perceptible nod before returning his full attention to his company.

Mohammed Bey blew a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling and contemplated his cigar as he sat back in his well-padded chair. “That custard was decent.” He glanced over to Tanaka.
“Yes, it was,” agreed Leila. “Thank you for allowing me to taste your dessert –I’ll have to order it the next time we come here.” She drew a lighter from her purse and lit the cigarette between her lips. “You did make a good choice tonight.”
As`Zaman chuckled, “I am glad you approve –tomorrow evening I’m going to try something different.” He shot a glance over to the other table but the two strangers had left. There was something odd about the two.
“Different –how so?” she asked.
He held up a hand, “First we get up early to look at some battlemechs, then we go out –I don’t have time to go shopping with you.”


Stevenson’s Auction Lot, 1000 Hours

Ali sat in the pilot’s seat, looked up and shook his head. “Don’t bother.”
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Leila. She peeked through the open access hatch above the Jenner’s cockpit.
“The monitors are all wrong to start with,” answered the Azami technician. “They don’t even match and two of them aren’t even flatscreens.”
“Is that bad?”
“If you don’t use factory parts,” began Ali, “you can’t guarantee the quality or performance of the replacements.” He waved at one of the screens, “This ancient CRT is taken from some vehicle and jury-rigged.”
Tanaka looked over to Mohammed Bey who calmly smoked a cigar as he stood on the catwalk. “Well?”
As`Zaman looked at his compad, “We have a dozen or so more lots to check out.” He shrugged, “We are looking for a suitable battlemech for you.” The Azami teen wore a white linen shirt with extensive floral embroidery in a rectangle below the collar, the blue, baggy trousers of a Kozak and new pair of elephant hide boots, dyed brilliant red. A loose, gray riding coat and short, fur hat kept off the morning chill.
“Does it have to be light?” she asked. “I noticed a pair of Marauders on the list.”
Mohammed Bey could not believe his ears. “You want a heavy battlemech?”
“Please?” She wrung her hands and bit her lip.
As`Zaman rolled his eyes at her well-practiced motions, “Very well, it is your battlemech…”

Leila looked over lot number 1158, “They’ve got to be kidding.” She stood before a large pallet covered with what looked like a heap of twisted scrap metal.
“Poor condition, it says,” commented Ali. “There may be serviceable components in that heap.”
“Come on,” urged As`Zaman. “Let’s have a look at lot number 1175.”

Tanaka stared at the near-pristine Marauder that stood strapped to the shipping pallet. “That’s…that’s it…” The Combine woman stood rapt in awe.
Mohammed Bey motioned to his servant, “The tag on the pallet says Marauder D variant. Ali, have a good look at it.”
“Yes, my Bey.” Ali bowed and headed to the administration office.
Leila hugged As`Zaman’s arm and tugged at it, “I have a feeling that this is the one!” She rested her head against his shoulder, “I can hardly wait until they see me piloting my very own Marauder.”
“Uh, you still have to make the winning bid,” warned the Azami youth. “A machine like this would command a considerable price.”
She looked into his eyes, “You’ll make sure nobody outbids me, right?”
“What?”
“Oh, please, please, please!” Tanaka wrapped her arms around him.
Mohammed Bey frowned as he struggled, “Will you let me go?” He then realized that Tanaka’s enthusiasm would remain undeterred. “Alright, I shall see what I can do.”
Leila kissed his cheek and hugged him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll love you forever!”
“Right,” replied As`Zaman. He caught a glimpse of Ali returning, accompanied by one of the auction techs. He gave a helpless shrug.
“I have permission to check this Marauder out,” reported Ali. “It will take some time so you may as well go have lunch, Master.”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “Of course.” He broke the hug and took Leila’s hand, “Come, on the way here we passed a place I’d like to visit.”
“Dressed like that?” Tanaka wore a long, black skirt and a green sweater over her khaki blouse.
As`Zaman struck a pose, fists at his hips, “Of course, dressed like this –maybe I’ll start a fashion trend.”
Leila covered her mouth and laughed, “I’d like to see that!” She linked arms with Mohammed Bey and they left the warehouse.


Blavatsky’s Russian Tea Room, 1900 Hours

“I have dinner reservations for two,” said Mohammed Bey. “Sotnik As`Zaman.”
“Of course,” replied the clerk. She marked the reservation book and summoned the Maître’d. “One moment, please.”
As`Zaman nodded, “Sposibo.”
Leila looked past the entrance, “Oh, this place is even more ornate than the restaurant we visited last night.”
“The Imperial Russians borrowed a lot from the French,” answered Mohammed Bey. “Combine French décor with Byzantine opulence and this is what you get.”
A wizened waiter in a tuxedo bowed, “Monsieur Sotnik…”

Tanaka opened her menu, “I am hungry…”
“The escargot looks good,” said As`Zaman.
Leila almost dropped her menu, “I thought you can’t eat that.”
The teen shrugged, “If you must know, the Amazigh don’t follow Islamic law as closely as most other ethnic groups.”
“But aren’t you an Imam?” she asked.
As`Zaman nodded, “Exactly –now you know that I won’t condemn anyone if they broke the dietary laws now and then.” He returned to his menu.
She smiled, “Does that mean you could drink wine and champagne?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He peered over his menu, “Because I abhor the taste of wine and champagne.”
“You know, this menu has just as many French dishes as they have Russian selections,” noted Tanaka. “Why is that?”
“It is the French influence on Russian nobility before Napoleon,” replied Mohammed Bey. “Even after the Russian Empire collapsed, the French influence still dominated the arts. Oddly enough, many Russians escaping the revolution fled to France.”
“Where did you learn all this?” Tanaka appeared to be impressed.
As`Zaman shrugged and folded his menu, “My old tutor.” He looked up and smiled as their waiter returned. “An order of escargot, I’ll have the goulash, she’ll be having the Caesar salad, chicken crepes for the lady, the rouladen with pilaf for me, white wine for her and hot chai for myself.”
“Very good, Monsieur Sotnik,” said the waiter with a humble bow.
Mohammed Bey leaned forward, “The weather forecast says that it will be rather cold for the rest of the week.” He pondered the idea for a moment, “Do you think it will snow?”
“How would I know?” replied Tanaka. “Really, you should ask one of the natives.” She looked through the window and noted how early the night fell. “I suppose it might snow if it gets cold enough.” The thought made her rub her arms to warm them.
A low, rumbling voice floated from a corner table, “The winters here are usually mild and last a couple of months.” The stranger leaned closer to the candle on his table, as shadows covered the corner where he sat.
“Thank you, sir,” said As`Zaman with a slight bow. “As you may have surmised, I am new to Galatea.”
The stranger nodded, “Mercenaries come and go on Galatea.” He sat back in his chair and sipped red wine from a fine crystal glass. “The waiter called you ‘sotnik’ and you are dressed like a Zaporoski but I find your accent difficult to place –I know of no Zaporoski units in Galatea.”
Mohammed Bey smiled, “Oh, I’m not Zaporoski, although I lived among them for a few weeks.” He tugged at one of the ends of the wide red sash that circled his waist. “I am originally from Dabih.”
“Dabih?” The stranger leaned forward, “Mselxir.”
As`Zaman’s eyes widened, “Mselxir d lafiya.”
Tanaka leaned over and whispered, “What did he say?”
“I doubt there are dozen people on this planet who could greet me in my own language,” announced the teen. He stood up, walked over to the corner table and offered his hand, “Mohammed Hajj ben Maruf As`Zaman Bey.”
The stranger stood up and shook hands with the teen. Leila gasped as she did not realize how much taller the stranger was, his hand enveloped Mohammed Bey’s as it gripped the teen’s gentle appendage. “My name is Kane.”
The stranger’s muscular form made the teen look like a small child. Not quite two meters tall, Kane’s bulk easily weighed just under a hundred fifty kilograms. Rust colored hair framed the larger man’s face. A trimmed beard covered the strong jawline while his long auburn hair was pulled back in a braid and held in place by a leather headband. He wore a military-cut gray shirt, similar to those worn by Lyran armored crew members, the black necktie tucked in between the third and fourth button in accordance to an obscure tradition. There was a gray wool jacket folded upon one of the empty chairs.
Perhaps it was the odd way the candlelight danced over the stranger’s face; to the young man, Kane’s appearance seemed primitive, almost savage, except for the cold gleam of intelligence in the man’s blue eyes –there was more than a hint of cruelty there as well.
As`Zaman cleared his throat and stepped aside, “Well, please allow me to introduce my good friend, Leila Tanaka.”
Kane’s stride carried him across the room with remarkable speed; he shook Tanaka’s hand and bowed, “It is a pleasure.”
When Mohammed Bey stepped aside, he noticed the stranger’s black leather trousers and high boots. He noticed the unusual, bulky pistol that hung low on Kane’s left thigh.
Tanaka smiled meekly at the stranger as she shook his hand, “I am very pleased to meet you, Mister Kane.”


Hotel Athena, 2300 Hours

The taxi pulled away, leaving Mohammed Bey with a slightly tipsy Leila.
“Come along, it’s freezing out here!” As`Zaman pulled Tanaka along into the lobby of the hotel and aimed her toward the lift.
“I’m not tired yet, Mohammed,” she whined. “I just want to go out for a couple more drinks.”
The teen tapped his foot, impatient at the seconds he had to wait. “You’ve had more than enough drinks for the both of us.”
“Wasn’t that Mister Kane a great guy?”
He rolled his eyes, “Yes, quite a delightful person, Leila.”
“Everybody knew him at the Gasthaus he took us to,” commented Tanaka. “He pilots a Warhammer.”
“What a surprise,” mused the teen. The lift arrived and he pulled the unwilling Kuritan along with him. “Finally.”

As`Zaman half-carried Tanaka the last ten meters from lift to doorway. “I need your passcard, Leila.”
She was practically asleep and mumbled something. Mohammed Bey sort of leaned her against the wall and quickly rifled through her purse. He found the passcard and slid it over the sensor, taking a moment to catch Leila before she slid to the carpet.
“Here we are,” said As`Zaman. He did his best to maneuver her into the boudoir without dropping her. He gently placed her upon the bed and turned to leave.
“Aren’t you going to help me undress?”
Mohammed Bey halted, “Leila, I am tired and going to my room.” He sighed, “I have to report in to the Kahman Mercantile office, early in the morning.”
“You’re no fun,” she complained.
“Good night and pleasant dreams, Tanaka.”


Kahman Mercantile, Galaport Office, 0900 Hours

“Please have a seat, honorable Bey,” said the receptionist.
As`Zaman poured himself a cup of hot tea and took a seat in the waiting room. He smiled at the receptionist –she wore a traditional veil that covered her face except for her dark eyes and a scarf over her hair. Her nametag read Shab`ha, which means “beautiful” in the Amazigh language. He wondered if she were a distant cousin, related to Uncle Ahmed. The teen settled into his chair, powered up his compad and opened a reference program he just bought, called “Getting Along in Galatea”.

“My Bey,” said Shab`ha. “There seems to be a problem –there seems to be an error on what we owe you.”
Mohammed Bey leaned over the counter to have a look at her display, “Is that after expenses?”
The young woman nodded, “It is current as of the fifteenth…” She turned to face him suddenly, “Did you really buy an elephant on Lothan?”
As`Zaman laughed, “It was delicious! –and you should see the boots I had made!”
Shab`ha laughed as well, her delicate hands raised to her saffron veil, as if to cover her mouth. “You must bring them in for me to see them, my Bey.”
The teen stood up straight, “Miss Shab`ha, you are in luck! I am wearing one of the pairs today.”
The Azami woman gleefully jumped from her chair and stood on her tiptoes to look over the counter, “They are beautiful!”
“I like them,” commented Mohammed Bey. “You should see the pair I was breaking in yesterday –bright red.”
“My Bey, you must wear them tomorrow!” The door adjoining the reception area opened and a large, swarthy man with tangled, grey hair walked in. Shab`ha’s eyes grew large and she quickly returned to her station and pretended to be busy at work.
As`Zaman waved, “Uncle Masmud, how good it is to see you!”

“So you see, dear nephew,” explained Masmud Bey. “We cannot possibly pay you the balance of what we owe you –not here.”
As`Zaman waved a hand, “I understand that, Uncle.” He and Masmud Bey sat on the office floor, a low brass table between them. The teen stirred his thick, dark coffee and sipped the strong liquid. “I just need a small account here to cover expenses and the rest can be transferred to either my Dabih or Algedi accounts.” He tapped his index finger on the polished metal table, “You just make sure Miss Tanaka is paid in full and taken care of as per her contract.” He offered his hand, “Yes?”
The elder took his nephew’s hand, “Done!”


Stevenson’s Auction Lot, Saturday, January 19, 1030 Hours

“And now we have lot number 1158, a Marauder MAD-3R in, er, poor condition,” the auctioneer paused to allow the laughter from the audience to pass. “Yes, there may still be serviceable components in that lot and we are asking a mere fifty thousand.”
Tanaka wore a long, snow-white gown with her seal fur wrap about her bare shoulders. “Are you sure?” she whispered to Mohammed Bey.
The teen, dressed in full Kozak regalia, barbed nagaika whip hanging from his wrist, nodded and growled, “Da, moya Khansha.” To observers, he looked more like a scowling bodyguard.
“Does anyone wish to bid thirty thousand?” The auctioneer’s eyes swept over the gathering of two dozen bidders –all appeared to be bored. “Fifteen?”
Leila raised a slim, white-gloved hand.
“Ah, the lady bids fifteen thousand!” the auctioneer’s voice tried to sound excited. “Do I hear twenty?”
As`Zaman let out a half-cough, half derisive laugh, which spread to the rest of the bidders.
“Going once, twice…sold to bidder zero nine…”

“That was a great deal, Miss Tanaka,” commented Ali. He took a sip of his hot coffee and glanced over to the podium. “Those components are well worth over a hundred thousand ComStar –that lot is the key to your next bid, as it has all the parts you need to bring that other Marauder to perfect condition.”
“Thank you, Ali,” replied Leila. “You have no idea how much I appreciate all of your help.” The comment drew a shy smile from the technician.
Mohammed Bey leaned over, “They’re up to lot number 1170.”

The auctioneer grinned out over the people seated in the large warehouse, he still had a dozen bidders eagerly waiting as he read the card in his hand, “Lot number 1175, one Marauder MAD-3D in very good condition, bidding shall start at two point five million.” He saw a hand rise, “Thank you, two point five –who’ll make it two point six?”
Tanaka raised her hand.
“Thank you, milady, two point six, two point six,” he chanted in a staccato voice. “Who wants this fine machine for two point seven –ah, thank you!”

“Three point seven once… three point seven twice…” the auctioneer wiped the sweat from his brow. “Sold to the lady in white!” He passed the card to the clerk next to him and picked up another. “Lot number 1176, one Rifleman N in fair condition…”
Tanaka almost jumped from her seat but As`Zaman discretely motioned for her to relax despite herself. “Let’s go,” he whispered.
Ali shook his head, “Three point seven, Miss Tanaka!” He was truly impressed.
Leila hugged As`Zaman and then the young technician, “I know, you said be ready to bid up to five million.” She wiped a tear from her eye, “We have to celebrate!”
“Let’s just pay for your new mount,” suggested Mohammed Bey. “Ali will get it to the bay next to mine but this time we have to hire a technician for you.” He opened the door to the office, “Don’t worry, we have you covered.”


Andalous Moroccan Restaurant, 2030 Hours

A trio of belly dancers whirled around the low brass table where Tanaka, Ali and As`Zaman sat. Mohammed Bey and Ali relaxed in the loose Riffan garb while Leila wore her Draconis Combine-style utility uniform.
As`Zaman wrinkled his nose, “These are Egyptian dances…”
Leila laughed and kissed his cheek, “Always the perfectionist.”

_________________
[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans

What you need to do with this is post it as a podcast , I love ths story it very very good please keep up the good work and I am looking ffoward to more.

Galaport, Galatea, January 21, 3039, 0900 Hours

“Please fill out the forms as completely as possible.” The receptionist smiled then returned to her work terminal, upon which she was busily interweb surfing earlier.
Mohammed As`Zaman Bey frowned, muttering under his breath, “By Allah, I hate filling out paperwork.” He sat down in the small recruiting office, hunched over the table and began to fill in the forms he was handed. He had graduated with high marks from the Sun Tzu Academy and completed a few months of training with the 4th Arkab Legion Reserve -not very impressive for a teenaged pilot looking for employment but at least he had his own battlemech. In order to save some time, he included a summary of his travel to the Periphery as an escort, leaving out a good portion of what he considered sensitive information, including his encounter with Periphery Raiders and the salvage operations.

The receptionist casually glanced over the forms, “Very good, Mister As`Zaman Bey…” She looked up at him –aside from looking rather young, he seemed rather well dressed for a mercenary. “I see your contact address is the Hotel Athena –are you planning to be there very long?”
Surprised by the question, As`Zaman replied, “Um, not really…” He shrugged, “Once I get hired, I would most likely move to an apartment closer to where my employer is located.”
“Of course,” said the receptionist. “I just thought the Athena was…a long way from where most mercenaries would choose to live.”
“You do have a point there,” answered the teen. He noted that his hotel was located in an area of the city where few mercenaries visited. The Athena was a first-class hotel after all… “Is there anything wrong?”
The receptionist shook her head, “Oh, no…” She guessed that the Azami youth was just another rich noble who sought adventure. “I see here that you are single.”
“For the moment,” replied Mohammed Bey. “Please let me know if you have anything for me –I do have to be on my way.”


1100 Hours

“How did it go?” Leila Tanaka placed a bulging shopping bag in the empty chair next to Mohammed Bey. There was still a slight chill in the morning air so most of the café’s guests chose to sit inside.
As`Zaman sipped his hot tea and shrugged, “I filled out forms –they’ll call me.”
Leila game him a sympathetic look, “I’m sure somebody will see your potential and hire you right away.” She patted his hand.
Mohammed Bey looked up to watch the gray clouds as they passed over the bleak spires of Galaport. “How is the progress on your battlemech?”
Tanaka’s face brightened, “Ali is a genius!” She was like a child with a wondrous new toy. “The technician we hired, Anya, has been of immeasurable help as well.”
“I am happy to hear that,” smiled As`Zaman. “Have you had any familiarization time?”
Leila nodded, “I spent at least an hour today in the cockpit, helping Ali and Anya with the diagnostics –I put in at least six hours yesterday.”
“I hope I’m not interfering with your familiarization time,” commented Mohammed Bey. “You are scheduled to leave for home a week from now.”
“I know,” said Leila. She looked down for a moment, “All the fun we’ve been having, running around and living like nobles on vacation –it’s all going to end.”
“Hey, we can’t do this forever,” reasoned As`Zaman.
Tanaka looked at him, “Why not?” She closed her eyes, “This has been like a wonderful dream and I’m going to wake up –Ali told me that I could easily sell my repaired Marauder for between four and five million.”
As`Zaman frowned. “That may be true but what about your dream of becoming a mechwarrior in the Draconis Combine?”
Leila opened her eyes, “I’m not giving that up.” She pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it. She inhaled the smoke and slowly exhaled. “I just thought about how hard my father’s been working and I have a battlemech worth more than what he’s made in his lifetime –what if I lose it in my first battle?”
“A warrior accepts the chance of losing everything,” said Mohammed Bey. “There is no room for fear, doubt or second thoughts.”
The young woman smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek, “Thank you for keeping me on track.” She gathered up her shopping bag, “I’m heading to my room to rest for a while –I’ll be at the hangar for the rest of the day so I don’t have time for dinner.”
As`Zaman sighed as he watched her hail a taxi and leave. He quietly sipped his tea and watched the gray clouds as they passed over the bleak spires of Galaport.


1800 Hours

The rain fell from the sky in relentless sheets. There was a small line of hotel guests waiting for the doormen, who would summon taxis for them.
As`Zaman waited in line, thinking about where he would go to dinner.
“Next,” called the doorman, resplendent in his uniform and carrying an umbrella to protect the guests from the downpour.
Mohammed Bey hurried and climbed into the waiting taxi.
“Where to, buddy?” the driver eyed the teen in the rear view mirror as the vehicle pulled away from the hotel.
“Where do the mechwarriors go to eat?” inquired the Azami youth.
The driver slowed his cab, “What was that?”
As`Zaman sat back on the soft passenger seat, “I’d like to see where the mechwarriors prefer to eat.”
“Ah, gotcha,” replied the cabbie. “Which mechwarriors would you be talkin’ about?” He continued, “We got your mercenaries, then we got the professional area fighters, and then you have the guys from the local academies.”
“There are academies here?” asked Mohammed Bey with great interest.
The driver nodded, “We have several, although two of them in town are pretty big.”
Mohammed Bey thought for a while, “Sure, take me to where the academy students go.” He looked at the driver’s registration, “Travis –may I call you that?”
The driver smiled and looked at the teen through the rear view mirror, “Sure, pal.”
“My name is Mohammed,” announced the teen. “I’m an academy graduate myself.”
“Do tell,” replied Travis. “You look kind of young.” He tapped the flat screen of his navigation display, “Weinstube Wegner is the place where the von Manstein Academy cadets prefer to hang out.” Travis looked at Mohammed Bey out of the corner of one eye, “By the way, how is your German?”
As`Zaman shook his head, “Nicht sehr gut aber ich lerne deutsch.”
Travis nodded, “Not bad, the cadets are all Lyrans but they all speak Standard –depending if they accept your presence or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, sometimes the cadets can be territorial,” explained the driver. “The academies have these rivalries that occasionally come to blows –occasionally a duel or two.”
Mohammed Bey nodded in understanding, “Ah, I see.”

“Here we are, Charlottenstraβe Forty-nine,” announced Travis. The taxi slowed to a stop.
As`Zaman peered out the passenger window, “There’s a large theater across the street –no wonder the cadets like this place.” He handed Travis a folded bill, “Keep the change.”
The driver grinned, “Thanks, Mohammed! You have yourself a good time.” He handed the teen a business card, “If you need a taxi, give me a call.”
Mohammed Bey tucked the card into a pocket, “I shall indeed, Travis –take care.” He quickly bowed and dashed toward the entrance through the pouring rain. He pushed the heavy door open, into the brightly lit restaurant.
“Willkommen!” said a waiter. He bowed to the youth with a motion inviting him in.
As`Zaman returned the bow, “Vielen Dank.” He held up his index finger and paused in the doorway, taking in the establishment’s opulence. The brass and crystal chandeliers, the flickering candles, the painted columns and arches brought to mind a lost age of artists and poets. Dozens of finely set tables awaited customers –the rain most likely deterred business.
“Bitte,” said the waiter. He invited As`Zaman to a table and handed him a menu after the teen sat down.
Mohammed Bey noted only one other occupied table, although the restaurant had other rooms and what appeared to be stairs leading to a cellar. He opened the menu and looked over the extensive wine list. The teen waved to the waiter as he passed by, “Entschuldigen, bitte,” began the teen. “Ich versteh’ nur ein wenig deutsch…”
“Ja,” answered the waiter. “I speak also Standard.”
As`Zaman breathed a sigh of relief, “I really do need the practice but I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Yes sir.”
“I heard that the cadets from one of the academies frequented this restaurant,” said Mohammed Bey. “I was hoping to meet some of them.”
“Ah, you would be looking for the Academy von Manstein cadets,” replied the waiter. “This is too early –most of them dine on campus and attend the theater.” He tipped his head toward the stairway to the cellar, “They usually go to the cellar and drink –perhaps after twenty hours.”
As`Zaman looked at his compad, “That would be less than two hours from now.” He opened the menu, “Very well, let me begin with the Consommé vom Ochsen mit Frittaten.”

2015 Hours

Flickering artificial candles threw dim light from the cast iron chandeliers to the long, heavy wooden tables below. A wide stairway led from the restaurant above to the somber depths of the Bierkeller. A handful of guests sat here and there among the bench seating, where most of them sipped from large beer steins with tin domes. Mohammed Bey found a small booth with enough light to study his German phrase book and sip hot tea.
There was a flurry of activity among the wait help; they hurried about, making last-minute preparations for the evening rush.
The rumble of a dozen or so boot-shod feet echoed from above, accompanied by shouts of greeting and calls for beer and wine. The first wave of cadets from the von Manstein Academy had arrived. Most of the cadets wore gray-green greatcoats, still dripping from the rain outside, and the saucer-style caps of their academy. A handful of upperclassmen strutted about in hussar uniforms, festooned with metallic cords, lavish embroidery and gleaming tassels.
“Grüβ Gott!”
“Dunkles!”
As`Zaman smiled as the boisterous cadets pounded on the tables, demanding service while the waiters ran to the bar and hauled trays, heavy with ceramic mugs filled with foaming brew, to the thirsty customers. The teen could not understand everything the cadets shouted but he had the idea that the cadets were regular patrons and their harassment of the wait help was in good fun.
“Oberkellner Luther is a good fellow –we shall thrash him tomorrow! Bring us beer and wine!”
The Azami teen checked his teapot and decided to wait for the chaos to die down before ordering more tea. He returned his attention to his book but could not help but overhear some of the cadets talking.
“Who is that Moor?”
“He’s new to me.”
“I cannot recognize the uniform.”
“Luther! Who’s that in the corner?”
Mohammed Bey had to laugh to himself –he had to endure a variety of racial epithets from Draconis Combine cadets while attending the Sun Tzu School of Combat but this was the first time he heard the term “Moor” used. Tonight he chose to leave his curved blade in his hotel room –he noted that a few of the cadets wore rapiers or the shorter, more ornamental small sword. He would have to refrain from duels this evening.
A large hand slapped As`Zaman’s table and almost upset his teacup, “Du, Schwarzer!” One of the cadets finally decided to challenge him. “Trinkst du nur Tee?”
Mohammed Bey closed his phrase book and slipped it into a pocket. He looked up at the cadet, “Aber ja, warum denn nicht?”
The few cadets paying attention to the confrontation smiled in surprise. “Er spricht deutsch!”


Kahman Mercantile, Galaport Office, January 22, 1000 Hours

Shab`ha sat at her terminal and pretended to work on the inventory. The office door was slightly open and the receptionist was far more interested in listening in to whatever upset her boss. Every time he raised his voice, she could not help but glance through the cracked doorway.
“A mercenary?” Masmoud Kahman Bey shook his head. “Is he mad? In one mission to the Periphery he’s made enough to retire and live like an emir.”
Shab`ha stifled a giggle –the old man always said that kind of nonsense when somebody wanted to leave the company.
“No, I don’t know which unit,” said Masmoud Bey. “I’ll ask him the next time he comes by.” He lowered his voice, “I’ll see if I can talk some sense into him.”
The receptionist rolled her eyes, “I definitely want to see that.”
The portly manger leaned back on his office chair, “Hey, get back to work!” He reached out with a large hand and slammed the door shut.

“Did I miss something?”
Shab`ha nearly jumped out of her seat.
Mohammed Bey grinned as he leaned over the counter. “Did I startle you? Sorry.”
“Oh, my Bey,” Shab`ha bowed. “May I help you?”
The teen hefted a large briefcase fashioned of rough, gray leather –the same leather that made up the torso area of his coat. “I need a few papers stamped.”
The young receptionist smiled and looked at As`Zaman slyly and whispered, “The boss wants to convince you to stay with the company.” She took the papers from him and quickly applied the company stamp on each sheet.
“Fat chance, my mind is made up,” he informed her. “I could manage to squeeze a couple of fancy dinners out of him…” He could not see Shab`ha’s mouth because of the veil she wore but her eyes gave away her smile. He took the stamped papers from her.

As`Zaman stood up straight when he saw the office door open.
“Ah, good morning nephew,” said Masmoud Bey. “If you have time, I’d like to talk to you.”
Mohammed Bey shrugged helplessly, “Unfortunately, I have a full schedule this morning.” He stroked his chin, “I might be available this evening.”
“Why don’t we have a good dinner?” Kahman clapped his hands and smiled. “I know a fine place with great food and music –Makkud’s.”
“If Shab`ha comes along, I’ll be there,” he shot a wink to the receptionist.
“Er, hrm,” stuttered Masmoud Bey. “I’m not sure…”
As`Zaman glanced at the clock on the wall, “Look at the time!” He stuffed the papers into his briefcase. “I’ll see the both of you at nineteen-thirty –at Makkud’s.” He spun on his heel and headed toward the exit, Kahman staring dumbly and Shab`ha stifling a laugh.


1100 Hours

“Who?” Mohammed Bey looked over the printout the receptionist handed him.
“The Kerensky Pride,” repeated the young woman, scrolling information on her console. She touched the screen and read the data that appeared. “Small unit, they’ve been around for quite a while.” She looked up at him and smiled, “Colonel Valborg wants to meet you at noon.” She handed him a slip with an address.


1230 Hours

The meeting at a small, sidewalk café had been amiable. Colonel Valborg, a tall, gray-haired man in a modified Rasalhagian military uniform, was eager to meet the young recruit. “I see you have been trained in the Arkab Legion reconnaissance methods –that shall be very valuable.”
Mohammed Bey dipped his head in agreement.
The Colonel’s gray brows lifted, “Mongoose?” He looked up from the data sheets in the folder before him, “Your `mech is a Mongoose?”
“Yes, Colonel,” replied Mohammed Bey, “an old one. It’s been in my family for many generations.”
“How many?” asked Valborg. He leaned forward, his voice low.
The younger man shrugged, “At least five generations, sir.” He motioned for a waiter to refill his hot tea.

They strode through the battlemech storage hangar. Colonel Valborg seemed more eager to see As`Zaman’s battlemech than to interview the recruit.
“Here we are.”
The Mongoose towered above them; its mottled desert camouflage seemed out of place in the urban surroundings. Its previous unit markings painted over, the machine was ready for reassignment.
The two used the access lift to view the cockpit. “It looks fast,” commented Valborg.
“Just under one hundred thirty at a run.” replied Mohammed Bey. He climbed into the cockpit and proceeded with the startup sequence.
“Is that your neural helmet?” asked Valborg.
The young mechwarrior reverently placed the helmet upon his head, “Yes, Colonel.” He prepared his control panel for powerup. “Is there something wrong?”
“Uh, no!” He leaned into the cockpit and watched intently. “I’ve never seen a neurohelmet so… compact.”
Mohammed Bey muttered lowly in Tarifit dialect and the console before him began to light up, cooling fans whirred. He opened his databook and transferred a ROM chip to the console. “This is one from my data library, from a reserve training exercise.” The control and diagnostic indicators on the console sprang to life.
Colonel Valborg gripped the sides of the hatch. “Wow!” The video screens indicated that the Mongoose was running at full tilt, making its way through a small, abandoned town. On a tiny display, he could see moving target icons in various colors.
Mohammed Bey pulled the compact holovid player from a pocket and jacked it into the control panel. “Here, this is what I see on my HUD.”
The holovid flickered for a moment and Valborg gasped. A tiny battle was alive above the player. “I’m running up to that Wasp at my ten.”
Valborg could see the light battlemech turn as lasers raked its side and back. The Wasp staggered and rose into the air. Plumes of smoke and dust obscured all vision. A small readout indicated that the Wasp was suffering severe loss of armor and a damaged gyroscope. Another target moved into sensor range –an Urbanmech!
“Time to make some tracks,” announced the teen. The Mongoose turned and sped down an alley, projectiles and energy beams cutting through the smoke and dust. As`Zaman tapped a button and the action on the holovid froze. “This may appear to be a replay of a battle but the Beagle Active Probe also acts as a battle simulator, allowing the data to be used in variations of the battle.”
He restarted the program and he once again charged the Wasp. Instead of using its lasers at range, the Mongoose ran up to the twenty-ton battlemech, fired its lasers then executed a kick that caused the lighter battlemech to spin and fall, arms flailing, its jets roaring in a futile attempt to remain upright. He turned and tried to run down the alley as before but saw his way cut off by the Urbanmech, which touched down in his path autocannon blazing. Breach warning lights and alarms sounded. He set the program on pause, freezing the action.
“I got too close to do that kick –cost me precious seconds to turn and get up to speed.”
Colonel Valborg shook his head, “Amazing… but what about it? You’d still have time to turn and run for cover, right?”
Mohammed Bey tapped a button and swung his Mongoose towards a clear plaza. His battlemech staggered, more alarms and flashing lights as the simulator indicated his rear torso armor breached and his reactor damaged. “Warriors of the 4th Arkab are taught to have incredibly quick reactions when it comes to firing.” He shut down the simulator.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Yes, the Beagle is difficult equipment to find, sir,” he nodded. “And few technicians have the proper training to maintain the few that are still around.” He smiled, “Ali has been my personal mechanic as his father cared for this machine for my father.”
“I have your contract right here,” said Col. Valborg, unconcealed eagerness in his voice. He pulled a folded set of papers from a pocket. “You’ll find the terms very generous.”
As`Zaman looked over the papers, “These appear acceptable.”
“I’m glad you like them,” replied Valborg. “By the way, where is your mechanic?”
“Ali is working on that Marauder,” indicated Mohammed Bey. He pointed to the heavy battlemech in the next bay. “They’re just about done with repairs.”

“Hey Mohammed!” Leila Tanaka poked her head from the Marauder’s pilot access hatch and waved.
As`Zaman removed his neurohelmet and secured it inside his Mongoose’s cockpit. He climbed out of his machine. “Löjtnant Tanaka, I see your Marauder is almost ready.”
“Er, is she looking for a job too?” Colonel Valborg whispered hopefully. “Blue hair…”
The Azami teen chuckled, “She just came here to find a decent battlemech.” He headed to the catwalk, “She’ll be on her way back to Luthien in a couple of days.”
There was disappointment on Valborg’s face, especially when he eyed the pristine Marauder; its newly completed bodywork coated with a satin layer of gray primer.


Schwäbisch Hall Apartment Complex, January 25, 3039, 1830 Hours

As`Zaman rested in his living room. The accommodations were not the best but Galatea was not a tourist resort –and he wanted to see how the other mercenaries lived. Dressed in his comfortable, embroidered gambas, he meditated on is prayer rug. He was tired, the last two days had been hectic –he and Ali helped Tanaka ship her new battlemech to Luthien and she boarded her shuttle that afternoon. It was a bittersweet parting but parting ways was a fact of military life. All Mohammed Bey wanted to do was clear his mind.
There was a soft knock at his door and it slowly swung open.
“My lord, your evening meal.”
Mohammed Bey opened his eyes and nodded to his servant. “Good evening Ali.” The two young men wore similar clothing, reflecting their affiliation with the conservative Islamic sect known as the Azami.
Mohammed Bey, a slim, swarthy descendant of the many North Africans who ventured into the stars centuries ago, calmly watched his servant push a brass dinner cart into the apartment.
“I must apologize, my Bey, the only lamb available has been previously frozen.”
With a slight wave of dismissal, the young lord nodded, “This world is so backward.” Ali uncovered the serving trays and the combined scent of steaming couscous and baked lamb filled the room.

As`Zaman dipped his fingers into a ceramic bowl of rosewater and dried them with a soft, linen cloth. He activated the communicator on his low table, “Ali, I am finished. You may take the cart now.”
The door opened, Ali the apartment and bowed, “I hope you were pleased, Master.”
“All of it was very delicious, Ali,” replied the teen. “The rice pudding was excellent.”
Ali bowed once more, “I live to serve my Bey and Master.” The servant covered the remains of the meal, “More kaveh, Master?”
Mohammed Bey nodded, “I would appreciate it, Ali.”

The communicator chirped softly and the Azami youth tapped a button. “Mohammed As`Zaman Bey.”
Colonel Valborg’s image appeared on the small display. “Good evening, Lord Mohammed, I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all, Overste Valborg,” replied the teen. “What may I do for you?”
Valborg smiled, “I am pleased to inform you that I have some orders.”
“Really? So soon?” Mohammed Bey grinned at the thought of impending action. “Where are we going?”
“Do you have a printer? I could just send you the files,” said the Colonel. “Full expenses, per diem –I know you will be very satisfied.”
The teen was even more intrigued, “Yes, go ahead and send me the files –I can print them out.”

“Overste Valborg, are you serious?”
The commander nodded, “Of course! My unit needs the kind of training your people can provide, as well as the equipment.”
As`Zaman shook his head, “Well, if you insist.”
“Good man!” returned Valborg. “Stop by the office and I’ll issue you a credit stick.”
Ali refilled the small ceramic cup with hot kaveh. “What is it Master?”
The teen held up a hand, “I’ll be there within the hour.” He shut down his compad and stood up. “Ali, I have my orders –I’ll be leaving tonight.”
“Orders my Bey?” Ali was confused. “Should I prepare the Mongoose for shipment?”
As`Zaman shook his head, “I’m not taking the Mongoose anywhere.” He handed the printout to his servant.
“Hometown recruiter, Master?” wondered the servant.
Mohammed Bey nodded, “That is correct, Ali.” He connected his compad once more and began looking up transport schedules. “It looks like my first mission is to go home to Dabih.”


And that, good friends, is the end of “There I Was…”

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[i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans